The Darkest Clouds of My Soul Are on the Horizon
by DevinBourdain
Summary: McCoy looks himself in the mirror everyday and tells himself he's fine, he survived. Not all scars are visible ones and there are far reaching consequences from the mirror 'verse that extend beyond not just the Doctor, but the whole crew.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The Star Trek characters are not mine, just borrowed for this story.  
Warnings: language and violence.  
Reviews are always welcome and appreciated

Sequel to **The Doppelgänger Initiative**

* * *

 **The Darkest Clouds of My Soul Are on the Horizon**

Jim's just come from hell, met the devil himself, and found out they share the same face.

He'll examine the damage to his soul later, when everyone has had a moment to catch their breath and reassure themselves that the person staring back at them in the mirror is nothing more than a reflection. As disturbing as Jim's encounter was, it pales in comparison to McCoy's, who had to exist in that perversion for almost two weeks. The tarnished and worn silver lining is they brought McCoy home and not just a body, but it was a very near thing.

Jim's not known for his patience. He built his youth on impulsiveness and pleasures of the flesh, often racing into places where angels fear to tread. He's not known for patience, but he can be patient, if he absolutely has to. For the last seventy-two hours, he's sat by McCoy's biobed in Yorktown medical, shirking his captain-y duties, adding new kinks to his back and sometimes pacing the room like a caged circus lion. He's absolutely prepared to bite the ring master's head off if he doesn't get some answers soon or even better, and by far his preferred choice, have McCoy open his eyes and give Jim shit about something. Anything. It really doesn't matter as long as that southern, grumpy charm manages to beat the devil too. He's pretty sure there's a gold fiddle or something, involved in it for McCoy for doing so.

If Jim had his head in the game properly, he's pretty sure he would have laid into Spock earlier about running interference between his emotionally distraught captain and the gory medical details as they come in. Right now he's a little grateful; it's hard enough to look at the aftermath without knowing the fine details of everything those sick sons of bitches did to McCoy in that universe. His imagination does have plenty of time to fill in the blanks.

There's no security showing up to drag Kirk away to the brig or a court martial or even questioning by the admiralty, so whatever Spock is telling them, must be holding the wolves at bay. Even if they do come for him, Jim'll fight them tooth and nail to stay where he is. He'd taken his eyes off Leonard and look where that got the doctor. He won't make that mistake again so soon. At least not until McCoy opens his eyes and Jim can assure him the nightmare is over and Leonard's cantankerousness is free to run amuck on the Enterprise once again. Or it will be, once Jim gets her back on her feet again too. This is why he can't have nice things; he hasn't been very mindful of their frailty lately.

At hour eighty-one, McCoy blinks once, than twice. Jim sits up straighter in anticipation and his heart waits to break out in song at the first 'damn it Jim' to cut through the oppressive and stale silence. Jim'll bet some serious credits that those are the words that slip past McCoy's lips when his alarm goes off in the morning and Leonard's still straddling the barrier between awake and sleep.

Hope dies a horrible withering death as Jim watches McCoy's slack face go from trauma and drug induced slumber to relief briefly before taking a hard right and go careening straight to fear; ungodly and unbridled fear. McCoy makes a few feeble attempts to push Jim's hand away before he starts screaming. It's slurred and mostly intelligible ramblings absconded by the drugs lying heavy in his system but what Jim can make out, makes his gut tighten.

He tries to hold McCoy down, to stop him from scrambling out of bed and hurting himself further but his attempts to hold and calm his friend only seem to exacerbate the situation.

"Easy, Bones. It's alright," shouts Jim to be heard. It's a fine balance between trying to smash through McCoy's fear and being calm and gentle so as not to send the doctor scurrying in terror.

"Screw you. Ya ain't him,' says Lenard like his mouth is full of marbles and putting more effort into his useless uncoordinated struggles. Desperation and fear are rolling off of him. He has to get away, no matter what it takes. Any injuries it takes to do it can be fixed later as long as he can get away from this nightmare.

"Bones! You're home. We brought you ho... Ow!" cries Jim as McCoy sinks his teeth into the flesh of Jim's hand. He pulls his arm back to see the bite mark well up with blood just as the doctors and nurses rush in to sedate the patient. It's a storm of flailing limbs and highly trained medical professionals like one of those cartoon dust clouds that threatens to sweep up everyone in its path. Jim presses down on his hand to try and stop the bleeding. "Shit."

Having someone that looks like your best friend cut into you is bad enough, he can do without the pretense of Kirk pretending to be Jim. "Knew it... you... you bast...ards," slurs McCoy as he has little option but to surrender to the drugs.

"I promise, I got you home, Bones," pleads Jim, standing there helplessly as McCoy's eyes flutter shut. He's never seen the doctor reduced to something so animalistic and it just serves to amplify and define his failure. A tiny voice whispers that Leonard is shattered and there might be too many pieces for Jim to put back together.

"Let me look at your hand, Captain," says Nurse Chapel, gently but firmly pulling Jim off to the side. Jim, not having the energy to fight, is quick to acquiesce to her efforts. It's like pulling along a ghost, the ease is almost scary considering how hard the doctor has to fight to get Jim to submit to medical care in the middle of a crisis. She mops up enough of the blood to get an actual look at the wound. "It's not that bad."

Jim would like to argue that it is. This wound runs much deeper than the layers of flesh and muscle that McCoy managed to pierce, but then again, neither of them wants to talk about their friend and colleague being reduced to the actions of a rabid dog. There's a joke in there somewhere about contracting colorful southern metaphors or chronic irritability but Jim can't bring himself to make it, just like he can't bear to take his eyes off the scene unfolding a couple of biobeds over.

"It's the medication; he's not lucid yet," offers Christine, to explain away her boss's behaviour but her underlying worry is undercutting her half hearted reassurances.

The ward has been filled with half felt positivity since most of the staff has been swapped out with the Enterprises' medical personnel, all eager to rally around one of their own. Jim's proud of them, but as the days go on and facts and theories spread about what has befallen their CMO, moral is getting low. He doesn't know what to say to raise their spirits when they can all look at a chart and decipher its code to know that Jim really knows nothing about what the future holds for a boss they all revere. It's a people problem he has, and ironically it's Leonard he'd go to for council on how to handle it.

"Good as new," says Chapel, running the dermal regenerator over his hand one last time.

"Thanks," says Jim, flexing his hand. If only fixing the doctor was this easy. He reaches out and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder before she can turn away. "He's gonna get through this," because Jim won't give Leonard the option not to.

Christine smiles and nods before walking away, but it doesn't reach her eyes and pity is far too quick to reclaim her features like Jim's a child being fed false optimism because no one has the stomach to sit him down and explain death is coming.

The need to punch something simmers in him, threatening to boil over at any moment and burn anyone in arms length. He has a long history of learning he can't really solve anything with his fists but by god, it sure feels good to try. A good fight would probably take the edge off, inflicting pain that he actually knows how to deal with. Anything other than this limbo they've all resigned themselves to. He's given Leonard far few too many commendations; it's been four days and already Jim can't handle it; a quarter of Leonard's job is waiting to determine the winner of a fight he can't wage on his patient's behalf.

A yeoman brings Jim three meals a day in which Jim manages to choke down two. He should get Scotty to do a systems check on the Yorktown food replicators because it mostly tastes like ash and failure. It means staging a hunger strike to rouse his sleeping friend isn't out of the question; Jim loves playing dirty like that. He hasn't taken shaving Leonard's eyebrows off the list yet either, just to teach Leonard what happens when he leaves Jim without adult supervision for extended periods of time. If Leonard won't wake up for himself he can at least do it for Jim, who isn't afraid to be that selfish about it right now. It's probably a good thing all the reports Jim doesn't have are on PADDs and not paper because he'd be making Henry Ford proud with a one man paper airplane assembly line right now. Idle hands are the devil's playthings.

Just the thought of the devil saps all the wind from his sails and he goes back to playing how still can you sit before the universe swallows you whole. When he falls asleep hunched over Leonard's bed, what he finds isn't better but his own personal hell with McCoy as judge and executioner but he can handle the bad dreams because it's the least of what he deserves right now.

* * *

M'Benga's up the amount of sedative McCoy receives so they can avoid another scene like earlier, at least until McCoy's a bit stronger. He's assured Jim that Leonard is healing physically and the damage from the rock shard is looking good but he's incredibly mum about the injuries sustained before Jim found McCoy. Jim toys briefly with the thought of pulling rank and medical proxy over Leonard to pull out every sordid detail the doctor knows but his traitorous lips refuse to form the question. He's never been afraid of anything before but is loath to admit he might be afraid of the answers here.

Jim doesn't take his eyes of the man in the bed, even when instinct tells him he's no longer alone in the room. "You're not who I was expecting." He figured it would be Spock to risk his ire with a well planned and logical argument to persuade Jim to go to his quarters and get something resembling real sleep. He's not sure if sending Uhura is more calculated or not on Spock's part but the fact that it's Uhura doesn't surprise him. She and McCoy formed a friendship back at the academy despite being on different tracks and running in different social circles. He supposes their friendship was built on some sort of anti-Kirk alliance by the two to slowly cause him mental torture at the academy.

"I convinced Spock a more emotional touch might be needed. He decided to defer to my judgement on the matter, but I imagine he'll be storming the castle should I fail," says Uhura from her spot by the door.

"I'm not leaving, so save your breath."

"You are," insists Uhura stepping closer to her captain.

"I'm not!"

"Yes, you are _Captain_ ," she snaps leaving no room for disagreement. "You're exhausted and no good to Leonard if you put yourself n the biobed next to him. That won't help him or change what happened. You have a whole crew that needs you and you can't help any of us if you don't take care of yourself." It's a low blow, but desperate times call for extreme measures.

Jim glares hard at Uhura.

"Now here are your options; get up and have lunch with me, checking in with Scotty and then take a nap in a real bed while Spock sits with Leonard or I have a doctor with a hypo waiting to knock you out and a Vulcan itching to nerve pinch you into oblivion, either one if it means you get a solid ten hours."

If it was anyone else, Jim would put up a fight but Uhura is crafty at the best of times and he's too tired to try and outplay each one of her moves. Spock steps into the room and Jim knows he doesn't have enough wiggle room to get out of this. The best he can hope for is to satisfy them so they'll leave him alone again. He lets out a long sigh. "Okay. But if McCoy so much as twitches, you comm. me right away. I mean it."

Uhura wraps her arms around Jim and guides him out of McCoy's hospital room as Spock takes a seat and resumes vigil over the doctor. "A twitch Spock, no matter how small," calls out Jim from the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

Jim's supposed to be sleeping. He won't admit it but he's physically exhausted and mentally drained but now that he finds himself horizontal on an actual bed, sleep has become as elusive as something going right in his life lately. Every moment is punctuated by the beating of his heart that seems earth shattering loud in the vast nothingness filling his quarters.

There's a strange nothingness that has settled over him. He should be grateful that McCoy's still with them and enjoy the present but it's so tainted with heartache he just needs time to hurry up and pass. But what are they running to? The future is painted black but not in a positive it can be shaped into anything sort of way but a bleak are they ever going to escape the shadows way. Life has become limbo, a long stretch of uncertainty that's teetering on the edge of falling into something warm and familiar or the cold rapids of never be the same again.

Jim's hand curls into a fist and he slams it against the mattress. He shouldn't be moping; it's McCoy that's suffering not him. Not to mention he has a reputation of beating the odds to cling to. He's James T Kirk, god damn it; he took on death and won.

It hits him just how hollow some of his victories really are. He didn't take on death; that was Leonard. Jim's the idiot that sacrifices himself and forces McCoy to save his ass because Leonard is the force to be reckoned with. Death had a near McCoy experience and hasn't been brave enough to come for Jim since.

Their return keeps playing out in his mind on a steady loop; every painful moment in painful slowness for scrutiny and tormented reflection. The anguish of every minute is explored as he slows time to see every mistake made along the way and their inevitable conclusion.

* * *

The medical team disappears behind the doors to the surgical suit and Jim's left standing in the main part of med bay like a lost duckling. What's needed now is beyond his skill and the one person he'd trust with the job is the one lying on the gurney.

"He's going to be okay. He's in good hands," assures Jim, not that Spock needs the reassurance but someone needs to say it to put Jim at ease and the usual candidate is indisposed at the moment. Spock may mean well but hearing some statistic about his best friend's survival when even Jim can calculate that it's less than one hundred percent certain, isn't what Jim needs right now.

"Indeed," agrees Spock, at a loss on how to traverse these highly volatile human emotional waters.

Silence follows as Jim fights every instinct he has to cross that invisible barrier and hold vigil at McCoy's side. There are things he has to do, that his rank demands he addresses but his feet have grown roots, holding him in place as though he's a mighty oak sprung up in Yorktown medical. It won't be long before command at Yorktown demands answers. His grace period is dependent on how long it takes them to figure out the questions beyond how do six Starfleet officers appear on a transport pad, one severely injured with no actual record of transport orders to leave the station in the first place. He'll gladly answer for all of it, as long as he can preference his argument with McCoy's alive.

"Captain, perhaps someone should contact the doctor's family and inform them of the situation," suggests Spock, breaking the tense silence.

It's an easy out the Vulcan's providing Jim, a chance to spare himself the responsibility of looking those that matter the most to Leonard in the eyes and telling them he failed to bring McCoy home safe. It's a leniency he doesn't deserve. If someone has to tell Jo her father isn't coming home, it should come from Jim. He owes Leonard nothing less. "I'll do it," replies Kirk, hollow and without emotion.

"I would be more than willing..." starts Spock.

"I said, I'll take care of it!" snaps Kirk, drawing the attention of everyone in medbay. Spock doesn't flinch under Jim's misplaced aggression but somehow that make Jim feel worse for shouting at his first officer. "Sorry, Spock. I know it's not your fault. I just..." _Need a living, breathing punching bag? Want to hurt someone to make my pain less? Need someone else to share the blame?_ Jim can't find an explanation that Spock could make sense of or that doesn't expose him as a shitty human being.

One by one the senior staff makes their way to medbay to settle in for what will probably be a long night. Uhura is first, sitting next to Spock, their hands interwoven. Jim's normally happy his two officers have found something profound to share with each other in the vastness of what they do, but right now, he's a little jealous of their intimate support system. He would love to share this burden with someone but the only people who he can commiserate with, who feel the ache of this scenario as keenly as he does, he has no right to add to their burden. It's the price of Captain and friend he must now endure.

Chekov is next to wander in. He's anxious and subtly trying to get answers out of Uhura as unobtrusively as possible while Jim works very hard to wear a trench into the floor. Unlike the rest of them, Chekov remained behind as a life line for the away team. While the rest of them have some context as to what happened, the youngest bridge officer only saw the bloody aftermath when a broken and dying McCoy appeared on the transport pad with a frantic away team.

The next to come through the doors is Sulu with an arm full of food containers. Jim can't force himself to eat anything but he's grateful for the sentiment. Again his people, who he can't possibly give enough praise to, are filling in the holes left by his short comings. He should be taking care of his people not letting them take care of him.

Scotty follows closely on Sulu's heels with of all things, a case of beer and bottle of scotch. Jim's not entirely sure he wants to know how Scotty came by it, let alone brought it into medbay but it is something he can force himself to choke down.

They must make one hell of a sight, the senior staff of one of Starfleet's most infamous ships huddled together in corner of a waiting room in medbay, drinking and sharing antidotes about their CMO while waiting to find out the doctors fate. As improper as the whole scene is, it's oddly appropriate for this crew and the person they're waiting and praying for.

Jim's patience are worn thin when M'Benga finally appears from behind the surgical doors. The air is sucked out of the room as everyone waits to hear their friend's fate. M'Benga's face gives no clues as to whether Jim will have to inform Joanna McCoy that she'll will ever see her father again. Words of condolence are already running through his head as he numbly steps forward to close the distance between him and the doctor. All of his words seem inadequate to the task he shouldn't have to perform and how to you give a eulogy when you know the universe will never recover from the loss?

M'Benga looks pale and worn and Jim aches for the battle the man must have faced in there. "He made it through surgery," says M'Benga and it's like a weight has been lifted off of all of them. "We repaired the damage from the wound and don't predict any long term effects but it will be a lengthy recovery. I'll have a more detailed report for you, Captain, but there's been significant trauma, most of which has been repaired so it's no longer life threatening but will require further treatment when McCoy is stronger."

Most of what the doctor says is muted under the relief that Leonard is alive. He's alive. Everything else is inconsequential in comparison. "Evidence of torture... injures in various stages of healing... someone with basic medical training... healed to keep him alive but not properly... the most significant concern now is the damage to his hand..."

Wait his hand? Jim's mind snaps to attention. "Damage to his hand?" asks Jim, dumbly, because he had to have heard that wrong. Leonard's a surgeon, his hands are essential to what he does. If he can't be a surgeon after this, how's Leonard going to deal with that? Jim gets dizzy as his vision of the future, the one where McCoy shakes off this misadventure, the Enterprise gets underway again and they all go about life as it was before Altamid, starts to go fuzzy around the edges. Suddenly he's imagining scenarios where McCoy might not be the CMO on Enterprise, where he might not even be on the Enterprise at all. What if Leonard decides to return to Earth and retire? Sure at first they'll make the effort to stay in contact, but Starfleet business will slowly monopolise all Jim's time and eventually it will be just too much effort to minimize the distance between them and eventually they'll just send holiday vids to one another and then nothing at all. It's a selfish line of thought to dwell on how McCoy's potential complications are going to impact Jim's life but he needs his best friend. Jim needs McCoy standing on one side of his and Spock on the other just like he needs air to breath and space to explore.

Everything comes crashing back into bright clarity as he sees the rest of the medical team being led by Nurse Chapel, moving McCoy from surgery to his own recovery room. McCoy's overcome the biggest hurtle, he's alive, and Jim's going to make sure he gets over the rest of them too. "Can I see him?" asks Jim, interrupting whatever M'Benga was talking about.

The doctor looks surprised but looks over his shoulder to see what has captivated his captain's attention. "We're going to keep him sedated for awhile, but you can sit with him if you like."

M'Benga's barely finished his sentence before Jim's pushing past him to follow the medical team down the hall. There's lots of time to hear the details of just what the medical team had to combat to get Leonard to this point later, right now, Jim needs to see with his own eyes that Leonard is still with them.

"Please continue, Doctor," says Spock as he watches Kirk walk away.

"We're concerned about the nerve damage to his hand. It almost looks like someone tried to cut his finger off."

Uhura gasps, turning herself to bury her face in Spock's shoulder. Scotty makes short work of what's left in bottle of scotch while Sulu looks away and Chekov goes an alarming shade of green. Spock for his part has to concentrate on keeping the messy emotions trying very hard to rear their ugly head buried beneath his cool and collected exterior. He's having a hard time imagining a scenario in which Doctor McCoy would warrant such brutal treatment.

"The rest of the damage occurred from the breaking of the bones in his hand, repeatedly. Someone would break them, heal the bones to the minimal standard that could be considered healed and then break them again. No attention was paid to the nerves and tissue in his hand. With therapy he'll most likely regain full use of his hand for everyday tasks, but it's difficult to predict if he'll recover the finite sensitivity and control required by a surgeon that he had before."

The news hangs heavy over all of them, making their small victory of bringing Leonard home seem hollow.

M'Benga holds up a sample container with a black device encased in it. "We removed this from Leonard. It was embedded in his chest."

"For what purpose?" asks Spock, scrutinizing the object.

The doctor shrugs his shoulders looking solemn. "We haven't had time to analyze it yet. I was hoping maybe you could tell us what exactly it was designed for."

"I can have a look at that, says Scotty, jumping up and snatching the container. He's halfway out the door before anyone can object.

"I vill help you," says Chekov, eagerly trailing after the Scotsman. It's something to do, a way to help that isn't just sitting and waiting for news.

M'Benga reaches into his pocket and pulls out a data chip. "There's also this. One of the nurses found it in Leonard's pocket. The captain should probably take a look at it." He presses it into Spock's hand before taking his leave to check on his colleague turned patient and going to his office to start a medical report he's loath to write.

Uhura stares at the chip, a horrible weight settling in her gut. There could be anything on that chip but her intuition is screaming at her that they're not going to like what it holds. "I can begin decoding it."

"The Captain..." starts Spock.

"Has more pressing concerns at the moment. If it's nothing then we don't need to bother him with it and if there's something... we can prepare the captain for it."

Spock tips his head in agreement. It goes against protocol and Spock's natural course of action but he defers to Uhura's grace in navigating complex human emotions. All the logic in the world can't guide him through the mind filed the crew now finds themselves in.

* * *

Jim checks the time again. His Uhura enforced timeout of four hours isn't up yet but he's already itching to go back to medbay. He is a grown ass adult and really can go back any time he wants but his crew is tenacious and no doubt have his door under surveillance so they know the second he goes against their mandate. He's the captain but his crew are the ones holding things together right now and he can't afford to piss them off. So he lays there, waiting for sleep, or news, or his time to run out, whichever comes first. Whatever releases him from this purgatory, he has enough time to run through their mission and return again. Maybe this time he'll imagine he didn't have his head up his ass the weeks leading up to McCoy's kidnapping.

* * *

It's a subtle minute change at first, one that would no doubt go unnoticed by human observation skills. The monitors have barely registered the change in respiration or the tensing of muscle that Spock meticulously catalogues out of the corner of his eye while reading through his stack of daily reports.

He pauses in his task to observe the doctor more intently, the captain's words, a desperate plea, to be notified at any change weighing heavily on the commander's next course of action. While sitting at the doctor's bedside isn't physically draining, he does recognize that it is emotionally taxing on a species that prides themselves on experiencing them.

Spock's debating the literal and figurative selection of human speech against siding with his T'hy'la's orders over his captain's, when McCoy opens his eyes. There's confusion on the doctor's face, instantly replaced with sheer terror the second Spock puts his PADD down.

"You are in medbay within Yorktown recovering from injuries you sustained while in the alternate universe," informs the Vulcan, loud, clear and precise, in a bid to avoid the confusion fuelled episode of the previous day. His words do not have the desired effect. Where the doctor is often overly emotional, this goes beyond, into something more resembling the fear driven response of a wild animal with its leg caught in a trap as opposed to a man.

McCoy's right hand ineffectually claws at his chest, hampered slightly by the post surgery bandaging. Unable to dig out the device he knows lies dormant, acting like an invisible shackle keeping bonded to Satan, he scoots higher up the bed, wild and feral, attempting to put what distance he can between himself and the monster sitting next to his bed in some obscene and cruel mockery of caring. Like it will convince Leonard he's anything other than the architect of Leonard's own personal hell.

"You'd know. It's ya handiwork," croaks McCoy like he hasn't used his voice in awhile. He's been carved and molded like some great masterpiece for the sick enjoyment of others, but no more. If Spock's going to kill him as promised, the smug bastard is going to have to work for it. He's taken everything from Leonard: his friends, his little girl, the life he had and his ability to say goodbye to any of them; everything except Leonard's ability to be the biggest pain in the ass possible. McCoy's willing to prove just what an uncooperative bastard he can be.

He's back in Spock's clutches which must mean something happened to Jim. Even if it wasn't his Jim and some horrific murderous copy, he still wouldn't wish Jim at the mercy of the Vulcan that's derived such pleasure in his torment since the moment Leonard laid eyes on him in his dark and lonely apartment on that stupid vulnerable space station on the edge of that violent and unexplored nebula. His memory from the exchange to ending up here is Spock's chamber of tortures is hazy at best and he feels sluggish and exhausted but he needs to get away.

Spock reaches over to try and grab McCoy so he doesn't end up tumbling out of bed but that seems to agitate the doctor even more.

As Spock reaches out to grab him, McCoy clenches his hand as best he can and lets it fly, punching Spock in the side of the head. He grunts and hisses at contact, his hand exploding in pain but watching the Vulcan's head snap to the side is worth every agonizing second. He won't let Spock touch him again, let him unmake him again; never again.

Spock's stunned for a moment. Not because the doctor's punch was particularly effective or even painful but it is surprising. McCoy's greatest weapon is his mouth, wielding it often and precisely at Spock, but his oath to protect people ceases McCoy's ability to cause harm to another unless in dire circumstances. The fact that he would view Spock's aid as a personal attack is most troubling. He doesn't have time to change his tactic, the way the doctor is now favoring his injured hand as he continues to struggle against Spock is all the proof he needs that if he doesn't stop the doctor, he will further injure himself.

It's hard to get a proper grip on the doctor's arms as he continues to flail about, slipping from Spock's grasp every time he believes he has a grip. With all the commotion, the doctor's sleeve is pushed up leaving his forearm exposed and bear. Spock's too busy concentrating on subduing the doctor without causing harm that his mental fortitude slips slightly as his hand gains contact with the doctor's arm. He's immediately overcome with a wash of emotion and images that spill freely from McCoy's chaotic mind unbidden. It's a violation of the doctor's privacy and a Vulcan taboo but being a touch telepath requires concentration when touching species that do not have the mental skill to stop their thoughts and feelings from being broadcast all over the place and Spock has inadvertently let his control slip for just a moment.

He flinches back like McCoy has just burned him. It's like being caught in a hurricane and Spock struggles to make sense of what he's seen, to find some sort of order in the chaos McCoy has inflicted upon him.

The commotion has caught the attention of the medical staff, who enter the room and instead of calming the doctor, McCoy panics even more at their presence. Options limited, Spock uses the only choice available that will both calm the doctor and protect him from further harming himself. He manages to snake a hand past McCoy and reach the junction where his neck meets his shoulder. Applying the appropriate pressure, Spock renders McCoy unconscious via nerve pinch but not before a look of utter condemnation creeps over McCoy's face.

No longer struggling, the medical team is able to move in and begin assessing McCoy's reaction and the harm he has inadvertently done to himself. Spock steps out of the way, unsure if the ends justify the means. Based on the look on the Captain's face, who must have returned the same time the medical team was alerted to McCoy's awakening, Spock has made a miscalculation.

Jim stands near the door in absolute horror. Somewhere deep down, he knows Spock would never do anything to hurt McCoy and such extreme measures would only be a last resort to protect the doctor but the image of Leonard bleeding out on the surface of a planet in that god forsaken universe is still fresh in his mind. He knows the pattern of every bruise, scrap and cut that litters McCoy's body; all there because Jim wasn't around to protect him from any of it.

McCoy has breached consciousness twice now and both times Jim hasn't been able to recognize his friend. McCoy's usually a cranky badger not a cornered ornery shrew. There's genuine fear in Leonard's eyes when he wakes and it tears Jim up inside. McCoy should feel relief and safety when he sees his friends not terror that he has to fight tooth and nail to escape.

"What the hell happened?" snaps Jim, like it's somehow Spock's fault. If he can't keep his Spocks straight in his head, how can any of them expect McCoy, who was kidnapped in the first place by who he believed was their commander, to know the difference? Jim's blood runs cold as he considers the fact that McCoy might be under the assumption that it is his friends who have done this. They know McCoy was in an alternate universe full of their doppelgangers, but what if Leonard believes it was them?

"The doctor was causing himself harm. I..." answers Spock but Jim's gone numb to everything to listen. He waves his first officer off, the world falling away as he imagines what a world where he would be the one to torture his doctor and friend. "Not now Spock," breaths Jim following behind the medical team as they move McCoy from his recovery room for better assessment on what damage he inflicted on himself.

* * *

There's something eerily familiar about the gentle buzz of background noise that manages to penetrate the thick darkness of Leonard's mind. It's comforting in its rhythm and there's a faint smell that's as welcoming to him as a bottle of brandy shared with Jim back home; he's in a medbay. It feels like home and he wants to wrap himself in this made up comfort for the rest of his days.

There's a throbbing in his head and things are a little fuzzy around the edges but the last clear thought he has is pushing Kirk out of the way of Spock's deadly wrath. There's some fleeting memory, more of a feeling really, that Jim, his Jim with the warm smile and cocksure grin had been there. A faint echo of someone talking about going home rattles around his brain but it's as elusive as trying to catch a ghost walking in the halls. He should be dead and he's not. There's no way death would leave him with this insatiable ache feeding on every nerve ending and muscle in his body. It's not agony, there're drugs in his system weighing him down and dulling the sting but they're not strong enough to remove the pain completely; only death can do that. Clearly Spock or Kirk aren't through with him yet.

McCoy cracks an eye open and groans as the light pierces his skull like a hot blade. It's a reminder of the pain this universe inflicts on souls for just existing and something McCoy's become all too familiar with. He goes to throw his arm over his face and block out the vengeful accusation the world is throwing at him, when his arm refuses to move. Alarm starts shorting out his brain, his breathing speeding up as he realizes he's right back where this whole never ending nightmare began. Spock warned him about still being on the Enterprise. The sweet thought of freedom was nothing more than a cruel trick his mind was playing in him, having gotten on the same page as everyone else in this universe; if only his soul had gotten that memo too.

He's about to start struggling in earnest when he glances down towards his arm and finds a mop of blond hair. His arm's not restrained at all, rather Jim's head's laying on it. And it has to be his Jim because only his Jim would sit with him all night and risk screwing his back up by sleeping hunched over him like this.

He can't help but stare, but the more he does, the more he catalogues the lines of tension in Jim's face that form when he's under stress. He's sleeping which means Jim's exhausted himself and probably hasn't been sleeping or eating properly since Leonard last nagged him about either. If universal constants have remained the same while McCoy's been gone, the moron is probably sporting a few injuries under that proper command gold uniform of his, that medical doesn't know about. For the first time in he can't remember, he feels safe and whole. Leonard almost doesn't want to wake him up so he can savor this moment for all it's worth, but he needs his hand back if he's going to hold something to quench his parched throat.

"Jim," he croaks. It's so quiet, he can barely hear it so there's no way it's going to penetrate Jim's thick skull.

He tries again a little louder. "Jim." It catches in his dry throat and ignites a coughing fit that rattles his whole body. Jim's eyes snap open at the distressing sound and if Leonard could catch his breath he'd wave off his captain's growing panic. He knows he's caused his friend enough worry over the last few days.

Jim's heart starts to beat faster and he's sitting upright and sliding off his stool in an instant. "I'll get M'Benga."

"No," chokes Leonard and he shakes his head to make sure his point is made in the absence of his usual commanding tone. He doesn't need to be fussed over and he certainly doesn't want to be alone. If Jim walks out that door, even if it's just to grab one of Leonard's staff, there's a chance this could all be a dream and Jim won't be back. McCoy just wants to savor this. "Water."

Jim sits back down and pours a glass of water from the jug sitting on the side table. He pointedly ignores McCoy's scowl when he refuses to let Leonard try and juggle the glass by himself. "I can grab M'Benga if you want. He's just down the hall putting together his surgical report. Or Nurse Chapel if you'd rather. Anything you want, Bones, just name it."

The water is cool and perfect or perhaps it just tastes better because he's home. McCoy licks his dry lips. There's a thousand questions he could ask, some he probably should ask, like what's his prognosis and how the hell did Jim kobayashi maru his way out of this one, but he's home, he's finally home and that's all that matters this second. "Nah. I'm good, I'm home."

His eyes start to slide shut, far too heavy to keep open, so he's definitely on drugs. He's just about to drift when a troubling thought stabs through his chest. He looks Jim straight in the eye, because no matter the truth, he needs to know. "I am home right?" The only thing worse than being stuck in that hell would be if he got Jim stuck there with him.

Jim squeezes Leonard's hand and he realizes that Jim never actually let go of it. "You're home, Bones," answers the captain with absolute conviction.

"Good," clips Leonard before settling back on his pillow. The tension drains out of his limbs and he soaks up the warm comfort of the Yorktown medbay blankets. "We'll talk about ya riskin your fool neck ta come get me from that hell hole later."

"At length," agrees Jim, the sparkle finally coming back to his eyes. "Once you're out of here. I look forward to it." For the first time in his life, he's actually looking forward to getting chewed out by McCoy.

"Jus ya wait... teach ya to do stupid things..." mumbles Leonard as he finally nods off to dreams that aren't bathed in blood and fear.

"Just sleep. I'll be here to make sure nothing happens," reassures Jim. Nothing in this universe is going to tear him away from McCoy's bedside. He fights back the tears that are burning his eyes. For a brief moment he had the McCoy he remembered. The little glimpse gives him hope that this might be the first step to getting back to normal and putting this nightmare behind them. It's probably too much to hope his friend will be spared the scars from this but right now Jim wants to pretend so bad that the next time Leonard wakes, it will be like the alternate universe never happened.


	3. Chapter 3

Leonard's eyes snap open. The artificial light of morning is filling the room and his limbs have the weight of exhaustion holding them down. His heart is beating fast and he's sharply alert for having just escaped the confines of sleep. He lies there, perfectly still, waiting. Waiting for what, he isn't sure, but he feels like the field mouse about to have the snake's jaws close around him. His memories have an ethereal quality to them and most lurk just out of his grasp. There's one of Jim, hands covered in green blood as he lets the go of the knife in Spock's gut, yet another of Jim offering him water and promising he's safe. He has one of Spock insisting he's home but also promising unimaginable horror should he find himself back on Enterprise. They dance around his consciousness like an itch that needs to be scratched. He's not sure which are real or if any of them are. There's a storm brewing and all his thoughts and memories feel tainted somehow. What does he have if he can't trust his own memories?

There's an echo of a conversation with Jim. Jim, ever the hero, brought Leonard's sorry ass home, no doubt at great risk to Jim himself and the away team. Hell, the kid even seemed enthusiastic to let Leonard rant and rave. But was is real? He had that same dream many times over the last few weeks, especially while Sulu was intent on carving up every square inch of his flesh like a Thanksgiving Day turkey.

"Are you alright?" asks Jim, hesitant like McCoy might bite him or something and that's not like Jim at all. It's certainly not how Leonard would imagine his friend.

The question startles Leonard. He hadn't realized he wasn't alone. That question is far more complex than it has any right to be. He's in medical, somewhere, and his right hand is bandaged up pretty good, to the point where his skills as a doctor tell him he doesn't want to know what's lurking underneath. Jim's sitting with him, not killing him, but looking like someone kicked his dog and Leonard's the only on that can save it. And somehow that's equally as terrifying as the bloody psychopath Spock promised. The whole situation's too depressing to be anything other than real but if it is some wild flight of fancy to escape whatever McCoy's frail body is withstanding, then he'll t grip it tightly with both hands and pretend for as long as possible, or at least until Spock pops up to drag him back to hell.

It's a simple question with an equally simple answer but McCoy's wracking his brain to come up with something tangible and can't. He has medical school and Starfleet under his belt and he can't formulate a yes or no to 'is he alright.' Is he alright? Clearly not. Being in medbay is usually a red flag for no but he's sixty percent sure he's no longer in a fucked up word where his friends are deranged killers so that swings the pendulum into yes. No: he's spent how long being tortured, for people's entertainment no less. Yes: he's alive and that wasn't a given a few days (weeks?) ago. Is he alright in this moment? Overall? Holy shit, is he having an existential crisis because someone asked him if he was ok? That sounds like a mental breakdown waiting to happen. Perhaps Spock really broke him after all.

"Bones?" asks Jim hesitantly. McCoy has that look in his eye like he's about to lose his shit.

Jim's looking at him expectantly, like he might live or die at Leonard's next words and he still can't come up with a yes or no. He's wandered into pathetic territory and gotten so lost he can never hope to be found.

"Stupid question, I know. Of course you're not alright," says Jim in his smooth apologetic diplomat voice, filling in the silence that's washed over them. "I guess, I mean, do you need anything?"

McCoy shakes his head because he can manage that. The list of things he _wants_ is endless. He wants the last look Chekov gave him to fade from memory, the way the light faded from the kid's eyes. He wants Chapel's accusations to melt away and Spock's presence, that seems to feel like it slithers and clings to his skin, to vanish. He wants these to not be memories that stand out bright and shiny against the darkness that has become his mind. He wants his sanity, god damn it!

"Did it really happen?" McCoy asks, small and broken, but so much hope rides on those words. If it was all just a dream, some wizard of Oz bullshit, he might be able to pull the pieces together and rebuild. If it was real though, those cracks and jagged edges are going to be impossible to smooth over.

Jim looks pained, like McCoy's a piece of glass that will shatter under his words. McCoy's pretty sure there aren't any pieces left big enough to break.

"Yeah, it happened."

Silence hangs in the air reeking of death and mourning. It's oppressive and loud and threatens to wash away the sandy remains of Leonard's being like a tide returning to the sea.

"But important thing is we got you back. We brought you home."

Is that the important thing? McCoy knows Jim means for it to be reassuring and a beacon of light to guide and warm him after the storm he just weathered, but it feels hollow and empty. All he wanted was to survive and return home and now that he's here, he feels like maybe he would be better off if they'd just left him there.

Jim's talking, explaining what happened after they realized he was gone, but McCoy isn't listening, not really. He's too busy concentrating on the bottomless pit that's formed in the center of his soul, threatening to swallow him whole. It howls like a tornado, beating against every defense Leonard has left. It's a wonder Jim can't hear it.

"Bones?" Jim waves his hand in front of McCoy's face, trying to break the hundred yard stare that isn't seeing anything in the room. "Where'd you go?"

"Hell. I went to hell because of you." Leonard can picture himself saying the words, hear them spilling over his tongue and feel them burying themselves in Jim like all the blades that took down the mighty Caesar, but he knows none of them make it past his lips. He doesn't have it in him to hurt Jim, especially with lies.

Jim looks hesitant, unsure when he asks, "Why don't you tell me what you remember?" And for some reason that's funny to Leonard. Jim's cocksure, impulsive, fearless and a god damn tyrant. Asking something of McCoy shouldn't make him nervous. "Straight to the debrief then, Captain."

Jim looks slightly ashamed but maybe a little disappointed. "It's not like that, Leonard. This isn't anything official. I just want to know what happened."

 _'_ _If you'd bothered to show that night, you'd know,'_ echoes through McCoy's head.

What happened? Leonard doesn't know how to answer that. He remembers nothing but feels all of it. There's terrible images rolling around in his head and a few memories that are so clear they rival the world he sees now, yet there are more, hiding in the dark recesses of his mind like the monster under the bed he used to check for at Joanna's request, waiting to pop out and revisit themselves on his mind. The last thing he wants to do is poke the hibernating bear and unleash a wrath that is mercifully dormant at the moment.

He knows what Spock did; that wound is so deep it threatens to fracture the whole universe but how does he begin to put that into words? Swallowing, Leonard bites his lip like he can lock the information away for eternity and then he might be able to forget completely. His captain just sits at his bedside, patiently waiting for any crumb the doctor sees fit to offer to help him navigate the treacherous trail. Something evil always lurks at the end of the path, disguised as something hopeful to lure them all into a false sense of security.

There's no escaping this conversation. Jim's trying very hard to hide an official inquiry made by a captain to his officer returning from an away mission; official channels demanding some sort of debrief before a more formal report can be written. Even if Jim wasn't his captain, he's Leonard's friend and eventually Jim would ask just so he could begin to understand how to ease the doctor's burden.

"I was waiting," starts McCoy and it's like he's sitting in his apartment that fateful night all this started, all over again. "I thought it was you at the door but it was Spock."

It takes everything Jim has to keep his mouth shut as Leonard starts his story. Apologies want to profusely fall from his lips that he wasn't there when it mattered most. Honestly, he can't remember what or who had been more important in that moment than meeting with McCoy as promised. 'I'm sorry' isn't some magic bandage that fixes everything; it might not fix anything in this case. The words seem so grievously inadequate but Jim has nothing more to offer at the moment. Unfortunately there are so many blanks in what happened. He has to know what kind of animal they're dealing with and the only one with the answers at the moment is the one person that should be protected from all of it.

"We struggled." McCoy shakes his head. There wasn't much of a struggle; he wasn't yet aware of his role as the sheep about to be blindsided by the wolf. "It was over quick. The damn hobgoblin nerve pinched me. Don't know what happened after that."

Kirk's quiet and reserved as he asks, "What about in the other universe?"

The corner of the blanket covering McCoy suddenly becomes fascinating. He picks at it with his thumb and forefinger like he can somehow beat the un-frayable fabric. "Woke up in their sickbay on their Enterprise. Apparently you're a pain in the ass there too, cause _Captain Spock_ has a special hatred burning for you. Pike had killed me so Spock came lookin' for a new McCoy he could trade to Kirk. The people over there... they're animals. Soulless killers and power hungry maniacs, the lot of 'em." Moisture gathers at the corners of his eyes as he finally looks up and locks eyes with his friend. "The things those people are capable of..." The words catch in his throat. No matter how hard he tries he can't force them out. He can feel Spock's hand on the side of his face and see every threat Spock promised play out before him.

"Captain," comes from the doorway and Leonard knows that voice as surely and as intimately as he knows his own. His eyes dart towards the door and oh god it can't be. Jim promised he put a whole universe between them, but Spock's here! He's here and ...

 _McCoy's volatile protest comes to a crashing halt as pain fierce as a white hot poker being run through his body brings him to his knees. The epicenter of his agony is the device lodged underneath his collarbone, too deep for him to claw it free from his body but he tries anyways. It feels like he's drowning in a sea of pure agony and he can't break the surface to catch his breath, not matter how hard he tries. He screams himself hoarse in a matter of seconds and just as he prays for merciful death, it stops. The pain is gone but he's still a writhing mess on the floor._

 _"You will cease making noise," says Spock casually, stepping towards the pile of Leonard on the floor. He kicks McCoy over on to his back. "It appears your insistent chatter is universal. If you're not careful doctor, your mouth will get you killed again."_

 _"What the hell did you do to me!"_

 _Spock raises a stern finger in warning. "You will address me as Captain. If you fail to do so or follow any other command I give, you will suffer the agonizer I've had Nurse Chapel insert. Should you try and tamper with it, it will turn on and stay on until I arrive to disarm it. Is any of this in anyway unclear?"_

 _"No," snarls Leonard. This time when the agonizer unleashes its ungodly pain upon him it lasts for only a second. It's enough, coupled with the expectant eyebrow of Spock's, to remind Leonard just how limited his options and recourse are. "No_ Captain _."_

The Enterprise fades away but Spock does not. The room is dark and barren. Like a huge cavern, McCoy's breaths echo off the distant walls which are so far away, they're obscured by the darkness. He's on his knees, like a dog before its master, unable and unwilling to summon the energy to move. Spock towers over him like a monument to be worshipped, stone faced and impassive. It's just the two of them in all of creation and yet it feels too crowded; existence clearly isn't big enough for the both of them.

"Did you really think you could run from me?" demands Spock and his voice is so loud and consuming it shakes the universe and reverberates along every bone in McCoy's body until it rattles around his skull like a pinball.

Spock raises his hand; McCoy's stomach drops. Not again. Anything but that. He tries to move, to crawl away, but Spock's god like tone has shattered his bones, leaving them useless piles of dust weighing McCoy down. He tries to cry out for help or even to beg for a merciful end from Spock, just not this. No sound escapes him as the Vulcan's hand comes closer.

And closer.

And closer, until he can feel the heat of Spock's hand as it hovers just over the side of McCoy's face. So close it barely brushes against his skin like the caress of a ghost. Spock's hand presses against him an it's like getting hit in the face with a shuttle as McCoy's world explodes in a Technicolor kaleidoscope of pain and agony from which there is no escape.

"Bones?"

Leonard can hear the squeal of Jim's chair as it scrapes across the floor. The sound fills the void that his ragged breaths normally would, except his traitorous lungs seem to have forgotten how to pull air in.

"Bones, breathe!" Jim puts his hands on Leonard's face so he has no choice but to look Jim in the eyes. It's worked before, when McCoy's aviophobia was still so bad, just stepping onto the flight deck caused McCoy to freeze up and hyperventilate. Today it seems to have the opposite effect, pushing McCoy over the edge into a full blown panic attack. "Bones!"

M'Benga appears out of thin air, pulling Jim back by the shoulder. "Captain, I need you to step out."

Jim licks his lip and takes a second to get his bearings. He's calm under pressure when he's on the bridge of his ship, here though, he's almost as panicked as McCoy. The best doctor he knows is Leonard McCoy. Since the best is the one in need of care, Jim's glad M'Benga is here. McCoy trusts him, so he has to be good. He looks from M'Benga to the med team working on calming Leonard down.

"Alright," snaps Kirk, throwing his hands up in surrender. He turns on his heels and storms out of the room, Spock trailing behind him like a faithful shadow the second Jim crosses the threshold.

Jim's a snowball of pent up frustration and anger, just rolling down hill and getting larger by the second until it's so huge it threatens to crush someone. He rubs his hands up his face, through his hair and then down his neck.

"What the hell happened in there?" asks Jim. It's rhetorical; he's seen episodes like that before. They were talking and it had been going well, but then the bottom fell out of the world.

Jim glances through the window into McCoy's room. There's a war being waged in there and he's stuck on the sidelines, useless and helpless.

"It would appear my presence has caused the doctor a great deal of discomfort," says Spock blandly. It's a crude hypothesis; his time to collect data was limited and his mediation on the images he saw from the doctor's mind still require analysing but it seems the most logical conclusion.

Jim stares at his first officer bewildered and equal parts pissed off before he remembers that rhetorical is usually lost on his Vulcan friend. He kicks a cart that's been left in the corridor and looks on with satisfaction as its contents go clanging down the corridor. His foot hurts, enough that he can't rule out having fractured one of the bones, but this pain feels too good to care. The cart is a helpless victim because he can't punish his crew and those responsible are too far away.

Spock opens his mouth to comment but Jim turns on him like a pissed off bear so he settles for raising an eyebrow.

With nothing else in the corridor, Jim goes on a search for something else to break. He makes it a couple of meters to the waiting room and stops when he sees Uhura standing there. She looks fragile and broken with bad news written all over her.

She looks away from her captain towards Spock. "Did you tell him?"

Jim doesn't wait for Spock to answer. "Tell me what?" he snaps. He's tired of people walking on eggshells around him, trying to protect him when their efforts should be directed solely towards fixing McCoy; especially when it can't get any worse.


	4. Chapter 4

The threat is gone or never really existed if everyone's gentle whispers and words of supposed comfort are anything to believe. McCoy can't bring himself to care much either way. He knows medical protocol and worse he knows the feeling of the light sedative weighing him down; not enough to knock him out, just enough to take the edge off and make him pliant. He'd glare and scowl at the staff as they flutter out of the room but it takes too much energy. He's pretty sure his resting bitch face gets the point across quite eloquently though. If that wasn't enough of a signal, turning his back towards the door and curling into his pillow is definitely screaming fuck off.

McCoy lets out a huff that gets buried under the sound of wheels rolling across the floor. Even though M'Benga rolls his chair into Leonard's eye line, McCoy looks anywhere besides his colleague.

"Do you feel up to talking about what happened?" asks M'Benga with cautious optimism. He can treat physical symptoms all day long but without insight into McCoy's mental state he can't begin to piece his friend and colleague back together.

"No." Even the bitterness in McCoy's own voice makes him flinch. He doesn't want a well meaning conversation by someone that wants to help and understand. He doesn't want to be analyzed or have his condition explained to him; he's got it figured out, thanks, and the rest he could take a good professional guess about too. He's burdened with the medical knowledge that applies to someone having survived the hell he's be plucked from and now has the dismay of applying that knowledge first hand.

M'Benga glances over the PADD in his hand, consulting the file on his patient. "I know the results of what happened and can make some pretty educated guesses as to the how of everything, but we need you to fill in the who and whys."

McCoy rolls his eyes. Everyone wants to know but they don't really. He knows Geoff means well but he's played this game from M'Benga's end many times before. If he's gained anything, it's a healthy understanding of just what a pain in the ass people in his former position are to where he is now. "Nothing personal, Geoff, but I have little desire to rehash the particulars of what it was like to have those perversions cut into me." He lived it once and that was enough. He started to open up to Jim and look how that turned out. Right now, forgetting seems the only viable option. "As to the why's, that's what those twisted sons of bitches do for thrills over there, so I'm good on the share and care."

M'Benga doesn't flinch in the face of McCoy's hostility, just writes a couple of notes in Leonard's file like the competent professional Leonard knows him to be. "You're going to have to talk about it eventually, Leonard. You yourself would recommend counselling if our situations were reversed.

"Knowin' I need to talk about it and actually talkin' about it are two different things."

"True. But being an officer means you have to discuss it sooner or later. It might be easier to do it sooner." They both know if Leonard wants to continue to not only serve but practice medicine with Starfleet he needs certification that he's physically and mentally capable to be back at his post. Without a councillor's approval of his psych evaluation he's never getting off medical leave. There's also the dreaded debrief that comes with the privilege of this unwanted away mission. "We also need to discuss treatment, particularly for your hand."

McCoy knows there's damage there even if he hasn't seen his own medical chart yet. Sulu tried to cut his damn finger off and Spock hardly has any medical training, even if he wanted to do more than just stop the bleeding to keep Leonard alive. It's a parting gift from the mirror universe that could derail any shot he has at getting his life back here but what's worse, Leonard can't picture himself wanting it back. It was the only thing keeping him going over there and now that he's on the other side of it, he just feels like a stranger in his own life. He's become a square peg that won't fit into the round hole of this universe.

"Just give me the damn report and I'll fill it in myself. Give Starfleet every gory detail they're lookin for," bites McCoy, because if Starfleet wants details about what happened, he give them every damn dirty detail. He'll layout the script for a horror movie dripping with so much spilled blood it will stain the page. Maybe once the vultures have had their fill of this satanic peepshow they'll all leave him alone. He just needs everyone to leave him alone and let him rot in peace.

"I think writing an official report can wait a bit," M'Benga cautions. "It wouldn't be valid right now because of the sedative and the post op drugs."

"Right," sighs McCoy and there's so much defeat in his voice it makes him want to cry. Geoff explains with tight restraint what he and his team had to do to get Leonard to this pint before prattling on about the schedule of surgeries and treatments they have lined up to erase the damage to Leonard's hand. McCoy's not really listening. His good hand shakes at the thought of having to perform surgery. What kind of doctor trembles at the sight of blood? Not one with much of a career to go back to, that's who; assuming the cards fall in his favor and he gets his damaged hand back to one hundred percent.

"You're still trapped, you know," says Kirk with that self-satisfied 'I'm a genius and I know it' looks upon his face. There's something about him leaning casually in the corner of the room that makes him look smugger.

Leonard will admit, Jim often has things figured out, long before the rest of them even start to realize what's going on, so he isn't surprised Jim's come to the same conclusion that's been tumbling around the back of McCoy's mind. There's the straight up fear that this is all some allusion or delusion between torture sessions and he's right back on that corrupt version of the Enterprise; the last place Spock warned him to be. Even if he's not, and he's not sure he can ever be really sure he isn't, his life isn't entirely his own yet. There's medical to deal with, then psych, which could be his jailor for years to come as they work out all the fractures Spock created in his soul. The life he fought so hard to get back to is still out of reach.

"I told you, you should have taken out Spock when you had the chance. Now you're nothing more than a hamster in one of his damned experiments," criticises Kirk like he gave Leonard all the answers to the test and he still managed to fail.

McCoy doesn't have the patience for this; to be bullied by Jim, especially when he's lurking around in that damned gold uniform with the golden sash hanging around his hips. "Go away!"

M'Benga stops talking and purses his lips together. "Alright," he says kindly, like McCoy's direction was aimed at him. "We can talk about this later. You should get some rest now." He pats Leonard gently on the knee as he takes his leave and all McCoy can do is stare dumbly after him before realizing Jim's faded away into nothing.

Perfect. He can add hallucinations from the sedatives to his list of shit he doesn't need right now. McCoy buries his face in his pillow. If there's any kindness left in the universe, it will allow him to smother himself.

* * *

Uhura glances around the waiting room and down the hall at the sporadic flow of people moving through. "This isn't the best place for this." Her voice is shaky and when she tilts her head just right, Jim can see the dried tear tracks on her face. She's the consummate professional, always steadfast, yet this has cracked her hard exterior shell.

"Here's fine," insists Jim. It's cold and pissy and not becoming of a captain, but he's run out of energy to keep his feelings about this disaster bottled up. He's not going to leave, to allow Spock and Uhura to coddle him while McCoy's walking a tightrope between reality and insanity.

"Jim," says Spock, softly.

The tone is like a knife in Jim's resolve. Whatever it is, it's bad. And not a bad, raise shields and go to red alert kind of bad, but a we're drowning in quicksand in the giant hole we've found ourselves in sort of way, otherwise they'd just come out and say it. He grinds his molars together and shakes his head firm, yet minutely, as if forcing them to say it here will somehow change the facts and make whatever they know less horrible. And it has to be horrible because life only seems to have two speeds lately: tolerable and horrifying.

Uhura grabs a hold of Kirk's arm and pulls him down the corridor. There's no good place for this but there has to be somewhere better than the middle of the hall outside Leonard's room. Spock follows behind them, a silent sentry to their death march. Jim doesn't want to move, to leave his position in case M'Benga comes looking for him; defeat and trepidation at what dark secret lurks within his officers renders him incapable of holding his position. He once begged Marcus to spare his crew; there's no one to beg or offer himself to in order to make this any better.

Uhura leads them to a supply closet; tight, intimate and devoid of prying eyes. There's no easy way to tell the captain, yet she can't leave him to wander around the minefield without some kind of map. It's in Leonard's best interest, in all their best interests, to lay all cards on the table, she tells herself. She doesn't know if she can get through it without breaking down again but despite Spock's best intentions it will probably sound better coming from her. There's a tiny selfish part that needs to share this so she isn't one of the only ones burdened with this heavy stone of information. Jim isn't even aware she's still holding his hand, which is a firm indicator of how badly this is going to go.

"Scotty and Chekov have figured out the device Dr M'Benga removed from Leonard," she starts and already her throat is becoming tight.

Uhura is being overly gentle with him. Jim's seen this side of her with a few people but never with him. Their whole relationship is based on quiet respect and loud disapproval (mostly of Jim). The last time someone was this gentle with him, he was five on the farm and his mother had to sit him down and tell him a coyote had come in the night and killed the baby lamb he'd taken a shine to. "What... what was it for?" he asks hesitantly. McCoy isn't dead like the lamb, though Jim has a feeling that he'll probably wish he was dead when he finds out what those twisted fucks did to his friend.

Uhura tries to force the words out, to get some sound from her throat. All the words she knows in all the languages and she can't find any to take the sting out of what she needs to say. There are no adequate words of comfort to ease the tear in their souls that this revelation is going to so carelessly punch through.

"It is a device used to inflict pain. Based on the inner workings, it receives a signal from a remote in which the controller can regulate duration and intensity at their discretion. It is our hypothesis that it was inserted under the doctor's collar bone to prevent him from removing it or tampering with it," explains Spock. They are facts like any other yet presenting them to his captain seems more difficult than usual. It seems the doctor's predicament is affecting him as it is the rest of the crew. He makes a mental note to spare some time, sooner, rather than later to meditate on the images he inadvertently saw in McCoy's mind and assess the level of emotional transference that must be interfering with his emotional control.

He hands over the official report compiled from the medical team that worked to put McCoy back together when they brought him home. It's a gruesome report filled with atrocities that highlight the volatile, emotional and illogical nature of their counterparts. Spock can find no logic in the horror visited upon McCoy, not even after learning his counterpart's motivation in the original crime of kidnapping the doctor. The lengths that Spock went to in order to save his Uhura are understandable and perhaps Spock can even sympathise with them, but what followed lacks the symmetry of reason.

The news settles on Jim like a lead weight. Torture isn't new to him, in theory or actuality, but McCoy's a god damn doctor; a healer. He risks everything to help people. He's not like Jim or anyone else in command or security who actively make decisions on occasion that will take lives and cause harm. McCoy would rather die than willingly harm another being. Over there, however, they saw fit to go to these lengths to inflict pain. They cut onto McCoy, beat him bloody, try to mutilate him and apparently they didn't stop there.

The coffee that has been sustaining Jim threatens to make a violent reappearance as he reads line after line. It's all there, simplified on a PADD like it happened to someone else, only it didn't, it happened to Leonard. Even skipping over the medical jargon, it paints a pretty damning picture. There's prognosis on McCoy's hand, a statistical analysis of the probable outcomes of procedures and surgeries that can help restore the damaged nerves that McCoy counts on for dexterity in surgery. He'd been trying very hard to ignore that particular bandaged elephant in the room but it's hard to ignore that the numbers here don't add up to a one hundred percent guarantee. It's another reminder of just how much he's failed someone he has no right to fail; not after all the faith McCoy's put into him.

"There's more," adds Uhura, knowing the next part will crush Jim the exact same way it crushed her. "I was able to decode the data file Leonard had in his pocket. There was a report he made containing everything he was able to learn over there and his theories about what was going on."

She talks a deep breath to steel herself for the next part. "He also made a vid. Two actually."

Jim's thumb taps the play icon before Uhura can say anymore. The screen lights up with Leonard filling most of it. McCoy fidgets uncomfortably in his seat. There's a long stretch of silence before his friend finds the courage to look right at the camera and say, "Hey baby girl," with forced jubilation. It cuts through the small closet setting Jim on edge. He knows what this is before Leonard can continue. This is McCoy's farewell screaming loud and clear in the confined space between Jim, Uhura and Spock in a supply closet in Yorktown medical tucked safely away from the nightmare that forced such a message.

It feels like an intrusion, a violation, but Jim forces himself to watch, because if McCoy could live it, he sure as hell can witness it.

McCoy clears his throat. "Hey hummin bird," he says gently. "I know you're probably sad right now and I want you to know that's okay. I also need ya to know, you are the best thing I ever did hummin bird and I have never been prouder of all you've done or all you're gonna do. Don't let anything stand in your way baby, cause you are stronger than you could ever imagine, with the biggest heart anyone in this universe could possibly have. I've known that since I first laid eyes on ya. You were so small and perfect. And whatever you do in life, through the good times and the bad, even though you can't see me, I'm with ya baby."

Leonard swipes at the unshed tears stinging his eyes with the back of his hand. "If you need anything, sweetheart, Uncle Jim will help out anyway he can. You're going to be fine. I've never been surer of anything in my life." Leonard looks up at the camera and smiles, large and warm despite the way it pulls at his split lip. "I love you Joanna, always will."

The screen goes black and Jim can't imagine the strength it would take to hand this to Joanna let alone have to be the one to record it. For all his grumblings and cheerful pessimism, McCoy holds on to hope tighter than any of them. For him to make the decision to make a goodbye message for his little princess means the doctor was not only prepared to die but that death was a certainty.

Jim taps to play the second message. If he takes a minute, he won't be able to go through with it. He's a little terrified at what words McCoy would see fit to part him with. The recording starts with McCoy letting out a shaky breath. His edges are rougher this time though.

"Jim, if you got this then maybe there is a shred of humanity here. I've included a basic report of what happened, though knowing you, you probably figured it out already." A sad smile creeps across McCoy's face. "I know it's a crappy way to say good bye and all, but it's all I got. I know you tried your best to rescue you me so don't blame yourself, kid."

Jim swallows hard. McCoy's staring death in the face, taking some of what could have been his last moments to say goodbye to those he holds dear and he's worried about Jim blaming himself? The last person who should be absolving him of his crimes is the one he's sinned the worst against. A universe away, and the guy's still looking out for other people.

"Everyone's gotta lose sometime and it's probably better it's now rather than when the great Captain Kirk is needed to save the galaxy. More important than being Captain Kirk, I want you to know, you Jim, were a great friend. I couldn't have done it without ya. You're gonna do great Jim, just let that pointy eared computer you call a first officer look out for ya every once in awhile."

Jim glances up to look at Spock and Uhura. Spock's as stoic as ever but there's an unease that's set in. Despite the fact that he and McCoy famously don't get along more often than not, they've forged a bond that can withstand their numerous arguments and keep them friends. It's easy to forget that Spock feels when his are the only dry eyes in the room, but it's becoming clear that the Vulcan isn't unaffected by this turn of events. Both he and Jim have lost parents and hearing McCoy say good bye to his little girl resonates in both of them. Spock must be rubbing off on his communications officer, because Uhura is holding it together far better than Jim would have predicted. Her and McCoy have been friends almost as long as McCoy and Jim.

"Just do me one favor, Jim," Leonard starts, the tears coming unbidden now down his bruised face, "can you look out for Joanna me? I know this ain't some small favor and lord knows I haven't been the best example of a parent to her myself but I need my baby to be alright, okay Jim? I need to know she'll have someone to go to."

Jim's the captain of a starship, responsible for some four hundred lives and potential relations between the federation and other species in the universe but he weight of being responsible for one life, one small girl in Georgia is daunting. Who is he to be responsible for a kid? What the hell was McCoy possibly thinking when he made such a request? Of course Jim would do it; he'd do it without being asked, but surely there's someone better that McCoy should want for his little girl.

"Tell the crew... ah hell, I don't know. Make up somethin profound and tell'em I said it. Take care out there, ya hear."

Jim's fingers clench around the edges of the PADD as he stares at the now black screen. McCoy could have died over there, nearly did in their medbay some twenty meters from where Jim's standing now. Leonard was almost taken permanently from his life and all Jim would have left is a recording absolving him of guilt that's rightfully his to bear. Another important person snuffed out of his life and all he'd have is another recording to remember them by.

He wants to drop the PADD, crush it under his boot heel as if to say, 'not today,' to the angel of death lurking on his shoulder. It's wrong, the whole thing. McCoy's not a fly into danger sort of guy, he does that for Jim's sake; he shouldn't have been Spock's pawn.

The PADD finally slips from his fingers, no longer able to hold onto the dirty confession of Leonard's very real mortality. It crashes to the floor in an unsatisfying clatter and Jim raises his hands to wash them of it. He's on autopilot, a seek and destroy mission to show the universe he's far worse than its macabre humor.

"Jim," says Spock, calm and steady, like he can break the spell. He knows his captain too well to not interrupt the war path Jim's about to hurtle himself down.

Uhura begs, "Captain," as he turns to the door that will as his starting gate for destruction.

Jim's fingers fumble with the lock function on the door control panel. He's not in control any more, just a willing passenger on a joyride as something darker, fiercer and protective needs to be exorcised from his being; consequences be damned.

Spock's hand falls heavy on Jim's shoulder as the door finally slides open. It's a desperate attempt to reach out and hold his friend back from the vacuum of anger and despair trying to suck him out like space through an airlock. Reason isn't going to pull Jim back from the brink, it doesn't stand a chance of weathering the emotional storm he's in the middle of, but still, Spock must try. "Jim, please."

The Vulcan's hand is like a lasso around a tornado. The door is open and Jim has to fly but someone is trying to hold him back. Jim's delivering a right hook squarely to Spock's nose before he or Uhura realize he's turned around. The crunch is audible as Spock's head snaps to the side and the more reckless side of Jim should delight in finally getting a hit on his untouchable first officer; sweet retribution for all those hits Jim took during their first mission together to stop Nero, but all he feels is satisfaction of a different kind.

All he can see is another video of Spock carrying a helpless McCoy to certain doom. Spock walked onto this station and plucked Leonard from Kirk's protective reach to ferry him away to unspeakable torment because he wasn't as careful with his own McCoy as he should have been.

It's more the unexpected nature of the punch rather than the force of Kirk's blow that throws off Spock's balance, sending him back into the shelves and then down to the floor. He sits there holding his, no doubt, broken nose; green blood painting his uniform as Uhura fawns over him. The correct course of action fails to come to him. Spock can't allow Jim to hurt anyone else, but denying Kirk his rage will lead to another incident like this and any means to stop Jim could bring harm to his friend.

Jim stares at his fist, the bright green blood splattered over his knuckles, staining his skin and his soul. "I'm sorry, Spock," he chokes out. This isn't his target. This Spock is his friend but the only one in reach. He'd looked right at an officer he'd trust with his life and only saw the monster from the other universe. If he can't tell them apart, what hope does McCoy have?

Jim's anger comes to a boil again. Turning on his heels, he storms into the hall to turn his aggression and fury on something other than his friends.

"Are you alright?" asks Uhura, helping Spock to his feet.

"We must stop him before he does something he cannot take back," insists Spock.

Uhura glances at the door. She can hear exactly what her captain is up to. "Let's get someone to look at you first." The pair make it to the door, Uhura holding Spock's free hand over her shoulder to help steady him even though they both know he could manage on his own. The fact that he's letting her engage in this very emotional human custom is an indulgence that was often missing from their relationship the first time. It warms her heart to see the effort he's putting into their second chance since Altamid but has to wonder the impact that the other universe had on Spock as well.

Jim's destructive war path has pulled the attention of everyone who can spare a moment, so t isn't hard to find someone to tend to Spock's nose. Uhura grabs the first pair of medical clad individuals she sees and passes her charge over. She can't help but watch as they escort Spock to the nearest exam room before turning her attention to Kirk.

She shakes her head at the security team that comes rushing down the corridor. "I'll handle this."

The guards stand down but look unsure as Uhura stands beside them, out of the way as Kirk demolishes carts, chairs and anything else that doesn't stand a chance. She should stop him before the damage becomes too great to explain away. And she will... in a minute. She'll give him a couple more minutes to tire himself out and expel the demons; mostly so they don't have to worry about a repeat and because Uhura really wants to smash something too.


	5. Chapter 5

McCoy doesn't know who tells Jim, which poor bastard drew the short straw and had to tell the captain exactly the extent of the physical damage done to his CMO, but he knows the second Jim finds out. Yorktown medbay explodes in a series of crashes and bangs just outside McCoy's room and he knows without a shadow of a doubt none of the equipment in the state of the art facility stands a chance against his friend's ire.

The noise and subsequent destruction plays merry hell on Leonard's nerves. He can't help but flinch at every sound. M'Benga mentioned PSTD in a hushed conversation between himself and Kirk when they thought Leonard was asleep. They do that a lot now, talk about him like he isn't in the room. Normally it would piss him off but he can't summon the energy to care. They're not entirely wrong. He knows he may be physically in the room but mentally he's checked out. Far too often it's to a world where Chekov got his throat slit and Sulu tortures him within an inch of his life, while Spock and Kirk fight over who gets to pick his carcass clean.

McCoy clenches his pillow tightly like it's going to save him from the explosive wrath outside his door. At best it keeps his hands from trembling. He knows Jim's not mad at him, that Jim would never hurt him, except that he did, or rather his counterpart tried.

There are images and memories tumbling around in his head that are not his own and those that are, are about people that are really here. On paper it seems so simple; the monsters live in another universe and even though they look like everyone Leonard holds dear, they are not here. In actuality it's harder to convince himself that he's home.

Listening to Jim fight the world stirs something inside Leonard like an itch he can't scratch. He needs to protect himself but can't quite place against what. Pain explodes in his gut, sharp and fierce and he curls in on himself protectively searching for a wound that's not there. There isn't a knife in his lower abdomen just centimeters from his heart yet he can feel the warmth of blood covering his hand and coating his belly. No matter how hard he stares at his hand, he can't see the blood he feels is there. It starts a spiral of doubt about what's real and what's not. The last thing he was ever sure about was looking up at Jim as he stained red the pristine white sand on a planet with onyx colored sky.

He was wounded saving Jim and there's a disturbing chance that this is all a hallucination as he bleeds out on that planet. Or is he bleeding out on the bridge because Kirk decided he should be captain over Leonard? The recollection of Kirk's mutiny is the most vivid memory Leonard has; every detail is flawless like he's stuck relieving the moment over and over again.

Jim did this to him. Kirk put him in medbay and now he's come to finish the job.

"It's not real," whispers Leonard closing his eyes tightly against the bright white of his room. "Spock did this. It isn't real." It becomes his mantra, tumbling off his lips until the pain in his abdomen subsides and all he can feel is the tender new flesh M'Benga created under the bandages Leonard tore off.

Leonard buries his face in his pillow until Jim runs out of things to break in the other room.

* * *

Jim can hear Uhura calling out his name but he can't stop. His feet carry him faster and faster until he's running down the corridor. He barely makes it into the bathroom before crashing to his knees in front of the toilet and puking.

He can't stop retching. His body needs to dispel the guilt, horror and shame over what he's just witnessed. He should have gotten to McCoy faster, noticed sooner. McCoy should never have been in a situation where he felt saying goodbye was his only recourse. Lying on the cold hard floor of the medical center bathroom, he toys with the idea of going back to the mirror universe, because whatever Kirk does to Spock- it isn't going to be enough.

A tremor runs through him as he finally stops retching enough that he can crawl into the corner. He pulls his legs tight to his chest and lets the cold from the bathroom tiles leech into his skin. He can hear the faucet turn on, then off and Uhura's heels click across the room until she's standing in front of him with a damp towel in her hand. He must make one pathetic sight because she looks sad rather than angry at him. The fact that she even wants to help him at all after what he did is miracle enough.

Uhura sits down next to Jim, close enough that their shoulders press together and hands him the towel to wipe his face and clean up a little. The situation is a mess. They haven't been this much of a wreck since Jim died in the Enterprise warp core. This time around they have Jim but it's Leonard they're waiting with bated breath to see if he'll make it. Uhura suddenly feels very small as she realizes just how much they all depended on McCoy telling them he could bring Kirk back even when the false certainty didn't quite reach his eyes. She's not sure she has the skill to keep everyone from falling over the raggedy edge but she'll try for Leonard's sake. She takes Jim's hand, mindful of the abraded and bleeding knuckles and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"How's Spock," says Jim, soft and quiet and full of regret. Hitting the wrong Spock won't solve anything and a captain shouldn't go around beating his well meaning crew. It was a thoughtless despicable act, one he should crawl across broken glass to give an apology for. Unfortunately, Jim's never really spared a moment to think through his actions when in a destructive mood, and he's not going to insult his friends by promising to it won't happen again when it's written in his DNA. He's met the Jim Kirk that doesn't think about anyone but himself and vows to at least direct his stupidity away from those he cares about.

"He'll be fine." After the initial shock and mildly stunned look on Spock's face at being punched settled, the damage was erased by the capable hands of the medical team. Uhura's seen Spock take far worse abuse by people that actually intend to do the Vulcan harm and brush it off as nothing. While Spock may not understand the emotion behind Jim's misplaced rage, she knows he understands Jim doesn't mean it. "If anyone can come up with some explanation in human behaviour for it and forget it, it will be Spock," she offers, after all, Spock smacked Kirk around before and Jim forgave him for being caught up in the heat of the moment. They're friends and she's sure they'll weather this slip.

"I still shouldn't have hit him," he says sullenly. McCoy's in bad shape, he can't afford to alienate the few friends he has left with his stupidity. "This whole thing is a mess."

Uhura lets out a long breath. "It is." They sit in silence, long past the point where the cold hard floor becomes unbearable. She wracks her brain to try and come up with something profound and inspirational to say but draws a blank. Instead she goes with the only thing that remotely sounds like advice Leonard might give, "It's getting late. We should go and try to get some sleep so we can be here for Leonard tomorrow."

Jim keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. "I still have to contact Joanna. Let her know why her dad hasn't talked to her in awhile."

"I can do it if you like." She can't imagine what she could possibly say to Leonard's daughter that would mitigate the terrible news or make it any easier for her to swallow coming from someone she doesn't know, unlike Jim, but Nyota will try her hand at it, if it will help.

"No," sighs Jim, resigned to his fate. "Technically I have to talk to Jocelyn first."

"Leonard's ex-wife?" Uhura's only heard of her in passing, Leonard being surprisingly tight lipped about the details of his divorce, other than it had been nasty enough to make Starfleet his only option. It wasn't until after they started serving together onboard the Enterprise that he even mentioned to her he had a daughter whom his ex took delight in keeping from him.

"Yeah. And if I don't do this right, she'll use it as an excuse to keep Joanna away from him. It's taken years for Bones to get her to back off enough that he can have comm. access to Joanna whenever he can. She's just looking for a reason to cut him off." It feels weird to talk about McCoy's personal drama with someone else. It's a can of worms Leonard has worked extremely hard to get a lid on, only opening up to Jim for the first time in their third year at the academy after he spent the weekend in a bottle because Jocelyn decided not to bring Joanna to San Francisco to see Leonard for the first time since their divorce. Being heroes of the Federation after Nero wasn't something Jocelyn could dispute at their next custody hearing, loosening the restriction on their daughter.

Jim gets to his feet before turning to help Uhura to hers. Today has worn them all out and they won't be any good to Leonard if they're falling apart. Uhura's suggestion might be the best thing for all of them right now. Maybe tomorrow will be better. "Tell Spock that I really am sorry," he says sincerely before leaving Uhura in the hall. He'll get a final update from M'Benga for the night, then tangle with the sanctimonious, fire breathing dragon that Leonard calls an ex-wife.

* * *

Morning comes far too early. Jim swears his head just hit the pillow and now he's being spurred into action by his morning wakeup call. Draining a pot of coffee he fumbles to find his routine in a room he hasn't lived in, in over a week. He compiles a to do list which consists mostly of finding other people to do the things he needs done if he's going to remain at McCoy's side. And he's going to remain at Leonard's side even if it's not for the altruistic reason of reassuring his friend that his nightmare is indeed over. Jim isn't too selfish not to note he's hanging around for his own reassurance and perhaps a touch of guilt.

He's still rubbing the last remnants of sleep out of his eyes as M'Benga scrutinizes him with weary skepticism before giving Kirk the nightly report. His crew seems oddly concerned with his wellbeing when there are far more pressing concerns and people to be fussing over.

"He's asleep still, and we had no incidents through the night," confirms M'Benga. There's relief radiating out of every pore that he finally has something good to report.

"That's good," agrees Jim. No news is good news and at this point nothing new to report is the best kind of news. He stares at McCoy through the observation window in the door. If it wasn't for the tight grip the doctor has on the blankets with his good hand, Jim would think he almost looked peaceful. The blood, cuts and bruises are a distant memory, erased by the precision tools M'Benga wields. The lack of visible injury minus the thick bandages on McCoy's left hand mocks Jim. The physical damage and horror can be so easily wiped away and forgotten, like it never happened nor matters. For the whole world, his friend looks shiny and new yet he knows the outside doesn't reflect the inside. Medical doesn't have a tool that can erase the broken pleas and pained whimpers of Leonard's first few days home.

"Dr Tri'youl is one of the best orthopaedic surgeons in the fleet and she's made arrangements to be here tomorrow so we can schedule Leonard for surgery the day after. It's the best chance he has for regaining full dexterity in his hand."

"That's great." Jim shouldn't be surprised McCoy's colleges have arranged for the best surgeons to help and he's extremely grateful for their devotion to their boss. He licks his lips; maybe if he moistens them enough the question he's afraid to ask will slip out easier. It doesn't stall for near enough time. "What are the odds?'

M'Benga shifts his weight from foot to foot. "She's one of the best," he assures.

 _One of the best_. The best is lying in that bed and even under ideal circumstances, which these are not, he couldn't operate on his own hand. "The odds?"

"Until Tri'youl can take an in-depth look, I would place the odds at fifty-fifty for a one hundred percent recovery."

Jim presses his lips tightly together. It keeps the unpleasantness from tumbling out of his mouth and is a dramatic improvement over his outburst yesterday yet his small victory ever his temper doesn't dampen his desire to put his fist through the window right now.

"These people were very skilled in what they did. If Leonard did anything else we'd be able to guarantee his recovery to a level that his hand wouldn't be an issue except for something as delicate and precise as surgery."

"Yeah," huffs Jim, pushing open the door and taking his seat at McCoy's beside. It's the first time he's ever resented his crew for being the best in all universes.

* * *

Jim loses track of time. His attention is divided between keeping one eye on his work PADD and the other on Leonard. He doesn't feel like he accomplishes much. He's been trying to write the same line of his report for at least an hour and can't seem to string together any words that resemble a sentence. He does manage to smooth out the pained and pinched lines that appear on Leonard's face with a litany of whispered apologies and reassurances.

Leonard finally shows signs of stirring beyond the last remnants of a bad dream and Jim dumps his PADDs haphazardly on the side table. His muscles pull and protest the change from his cramped position as he grabs a hold of McCoy's hand.

It's the contact, warm, firm and solid against his palm in a reassuring way, rather than painful vice grip of human cruelty against his skin that brings Leonard out of the blissful arms of unconsciousness and crashing back into reality. He lies there still, like death, waiting for some conformation of which side of purgatory he's fallen.

"Come on, Bones. I'm so sorry. We need you here with us. _I_ need you here with me," floats softly into Leonard's ear. He knows that voice; he's clung to it before when the world was going to hell and he needed someone to save him.

McCoy opens his eyes slowly, desperate to cling to the last tatters of sleep which is the only source of protection he has from the monsters that have invaded his life. A smile brushes his lips as he looks up a Jim who looks worn thin around the edges. Safety laps at his soul like gentle waves against a quiet, secluded beach oasis. Jim has an unnatural ability to stir feelings of calm, trust and annoyance and exasperation and Leonard's willing to bask in all of it but it takes his traitorous brain all of a minute to expel those feelings and replace them with unbridled fear, terror and the stark realization that it was those who were closest to him that delighted in his pain and anguish.

"You're home," insists Jim, seeing the look of animalistic fear loom at the edge of the doctor's eyes.

Leonard looks at Jim, really looks at him for any tell tale sign he's looking at the legendary animal that's slaughtered his way through a universe. He'd swear it was his Jim he's looking at but there's no way to be sure. Pretending to be McCoy's friend and captain only to reveal the truth once he's lulled into a false sense of security isn't above these people.

"I swear to you, Bones, I got you home," promises Jim, looking so broken he might slit his own throat if he thought it would convince Leonard.

"Sure, Jim," croaks McCoy, yanking his hand from Kirk's grip.

"M'Benga says the best orthopaedic surgeons in the fleet will be here tomorrow and can begin to fix your hand the day after that," says Jim with false jubilation that fails to reach his eyes or the concern that shadows his smile.

"Can hardly wait," mumbles McCoy, rolling his head away from Jim and bringing his bandaged and useless hand into focus. He doesn't listen to Kirk spew well meaning optimism at him; he knows the statistics and options better than Kirk ever could. Even if he did manage to end up back in his universe, which is a pretty big if considering the sadistic fucks he's dealing with, his old life is almost certainly out of reach. Coming back whole seems to have been too much to hope for.

He hasn't been following Jim's one-sided conversation so now's a good a time as any to ask the question burning just beneath his skin. "Where's Spock?"

The question throws Jim, rendering him silent as he contemplates just what Leonard really wants to know. Telling him evil Spock is still out there but evil Kirk is going hunt him down and remedy that situation doesn't seem like it will be as reassuring as Jim would like it to be. Truth is, he'd feel safer if he had evil Spock's heart in his hand so maybe there isn't such a thing as evil Kirk after all, just various shades of Jim. "He's in his office at Yorktown fleet headquarters," he says, opting for removing their counter parts from their daily conversations.

"Good."


	6. Chapter 6

Leonard's not sure when having a meltdown became a way of life but it's snuck up and become the new normal. That thought alone is depressing and draining in a way he's never known before. This isn't what he fought so hard to get back to.

His panic attacks all follow the same pattern. He sees someone, and before he can make his brain realize it's not some alternate version (or maybe it is; who knows anymore), something is trying to claw its way out his chest and he can't catch his breath. His mind tumbles through and endless analysis of everything, searching for clues as to which universe he's in. The thoughts and doubts are dizzying, like water spinning down the drain, and it sucks what little energy he can conjure for the day.

It ends with Jim holding him and promising that it's alright, but McCoy doesn't know if he can believe. Jim's lied to him before; making promises he couldn't possibly keep. Jim spends so much time whispering apologises to McCoy when he thinks the doctor is too far gone to listen anyways, McCoy's beginning to wonder if he must really be guilty of something.

The crew means well; dropping in to wish him well and check on his well being. If Leonard had the energy to care, he would be honestly touched, but the weight of everything is already crushing and their well meaning intentions are doing more harm than good. It doesn't help that Leonard can't be bothered to talk to any of them. Conversation feels hollow and forced as visitors carefully dance around the question they're dying to ask: what was it like to be brutally tortured by someone wearing the face of those you trust?

Spock and Sulu are automatic tickets to the shit show. Luckily it only took one visit apiece for both to decide to make themselves scarce. Chekov is hit and miss. More often than not, the only response the kid stirs within McCoy is a deep need to apologise. He tried once, but the babbled sorrys just confused the young ensign enough that he keeps his distance and only drops by for a moment if he knows someone else is stopping by to check on the doctor. Safety in numbers, like Leonard will try harder to keep his crazy under wraps if he has more of an audience. Little do they know that the insanity is bubbling and festering beneath his skin and when it explodes, it won't care who or how many people are in the room. There's a part of him that appreciates them trying, unfortunately it isn't the part that wins out most days.

Scotty and Uhura are pretty safe, though he doesn't see that much of them. Leonard didn't see their counterparts at in the alternate universe at all really, so there isn't any deep seeded reaction hiding beneath the skin. Scotty drops by every couple of days after shift but is often too busy to constantly hold McCoy's hand. The engineer mostly talks with Jim since Leonard has nothing to offer conversationally beyond a bitter _fine_ when asked how he's doing today.

Nyota is actually a soothing companion. Not only can she say things in dozen of languages, she can also understand the syntax of silence. She's the only one that seems to be able to engage in Leonard's silent conversations without judgement and expectation. Leonard isn't such a bastard that he'd ask Uhura to ditch her boyfriend to play emotional support blanket for him, so she's only made a few appearances that Leonard's been aware of. The crew is busy and sitting in a hospital room while Leonard vacillates between wanting company to break up the isolation and accusing them all of trying to kill him is awkward for everyone.

That leaves Jim, who's constant presence feels like he's suffocating Leonard. Maybe that's his nefarious plan? Leonard straddles the edge of white knuckling his presence and being grateful for it. The only thing worse than being in the company of a monster, is being trapped alone with his own personal demons. Jim's the only tether he has to some form of reality, be it this universe or another, but there's something deep within McCoy that wants to scratch Kirk's eyes out.

Kirk comes and sits with him every day. It makes it hard to ignore the world. Jim's too stubborn to let him wallow in his own misery the way his medical team will when he finds the strength to bite their heads off. Jim just takes McCoy's shit and misplaced aggression like a well worn punching bag.

"Don't you have some captain shit to do somewhere?" snaps McCoy, his irritation making his skin itch and feel too tight. He doesn't need someone hovering over him twenty-four seven. It makes it hard to forget. It also saddles Leonard with a healthy dose of guilt that Jim's putting his life on hold because Leonard's too weak to get his shit together in a reasonable manner.

"No," says Jim, broken and hallow, raising his head to look at the doctor. There are lots of things he could be doing, probably should be doing but sitting here with McCoy is the most important. Despite what a lot of Starfleet top brass thinks, Jim can learn from his mistakes. He put everything else above his friends before, all in the name of getting the Enterprise back on her feet, and he isn't in any rush to let that happen again.

"Pretty sure you got a ship to rebuild. You leave Scotty alone with it, that's tandem to letting the lunatics run the asylum."

Kirk rubs at his face. He's exhausted and completely drained, yet hasn't done anything much beyond breaking in the chair by McCoy's bedside. It's surprisingly easy to run things from his self appointed spot with his crew stepping up and going above and beyond to make sure the captain is free to ensure nothing else befalls the ship's doctor. "It's nothing that can't wait, Bones."

"Now it can wait," grumbles McCoy. It's an unkind thought, one that burns as it settles in his gut. It couldn't wait before when he wanted some attention, but now that he wants to be left alone, Leonard can't seem to shake Kirk.

Jim doesn't say anything, just sits there looking like a kicked puppy. Leonard sighs. "Guilt don't look good on ya kid." It makes Jim look young and vulnerable and almost human. Leonard needs his monsters to be complete evil; it's too easy to get lost in shades of grey. Plus if this isn't actually his Jim, then giving Kirk a soul will just hurt McCoy more when he eventually gets around to finishing what Spock started.

Jim wants to counter with being beaten and tortured within a millimeter of his life, doesn't look good on McCoy either, but he holds his tongue. Most of the things he says these days seems to irritate McCoy. It's a thin line to walk and Jim's doing a piss poor job of navigating it; too much pressure on the string could cause it to snap completely.

"We can't stay in Yorktown forever," retorts the doctor. It's like an itch and now that he's started to scratch he can't stop poking at Kirk.

"We can stay as long as it takes." They both know that _it,_ in this case, isn't the Enterprise, but rather Leonard. Jim's offering to stay for Leonard's benefit, which on the surface seems like a genuine life line from a friend, but it's just too much pressure on Leonard. They both know where Jim's meant to be and it isn't coddling this country doctor. There's a part of Leonard that wants to punish them all and make everyone feel like their lives are a shadow of their former glory by demanding to stay and keep the crew at Yorktown as long as possible but he isn't sure _he_ can stomach staying.

"I don't want to stay." He doesn't know if he'll be able to be on the Enterprise either, but at least gallivanting around the cosmos means he isn't in one spot; the one spot where Spock can just waltzed in and kidnapped him. It has to be harder to abduct someone if they're on the move, right? Space brings its own kind of death but it _has_ to be better than being here. Anything has to be better than this purgatory.

"Okay, Bones," sighs Jim and it's laced with a silent plea to bear with him while he tries and make that happen. If McCoy wants back on the ship, then Jim will get Scotty to step up the rebuild. They'll all probably feel better when this whole thing is behind them.

Jim's been apologising a lot and McCoy can think of a thousand and one injuries he's endured that all cry out that Jim's the perpetrator. This darkened hole Leonard's trapped in is the result of Jim wanting the Enterprise. That smug smile he flashes every time Leonard looks at him, the one that shows off his perfect white teeth and boyish charm is just window dressing to the darkness waiting to escape Kirk. McCoy read the file. He knows what depravity is woven in Kirk's bones.

"Kill anyone today, Jim?" asks Leonard just to see if he can kill a little of that light that lurks around the edges of Jim's eyes. He spent days in a universe of murderers that all seem to take joy in the act; billions of people can't be wrong, so maybe Leonard should see what all the fuss is about. Besides, there's the possibility the question will catch Kirk off guard and a moment of honesty could crack that carefully sculpted mask he adorns.

Jim would describe himself as a pretty carefree, fun loving personality that can let most things roll right off of him, not that he doesn't take his responsibilities as captain seriously. He's always been able to sniff out a good time and good relations with the locals. Lately though, he finds smiling hurts his face. He can't even remember what it feels like to genuinely want to smile, despite the fact that one is permanently glued to his face the moment he steps foot in medical. There can only be one rain cloud in the room and Leonard's called dibs all over it. It's exhausting and seems to make him a bigger target for Leonard to kick, but he can't complain. Letting the strain show isn't going to do his friend any favors; that's what late nights in his apartment with case of beer are for.

As much as Leonard's question hurts like a knife through the heart, he can't let it show. There's no use picking a fight with someone who doesn't even mean what they're saying. "Wasn't planning on it, Bones," offers Jim, as smooth and level as he can keep his voice.

Leonard scoffs and rolls his eyes. Another day trapped with Jim while they both pretend to be something they're not. He's been itching to escape for days now but even if McCoy could make a run for it, he hasn't the foggiest idea where he'd go. The Enterprise was destroyed and Earth hasn't felt like home since his divorce. His temporarily assigned apartment at Yorktown has been violated in the worst way, that he can't imagine going back there and that leaves him with nowhere to go. Jocelyn took the planet in the divorce and now Spock's taken the universe.

With nowhere to go he has nothing to lose, so bating a psychopath doesn't seem all that destructive anymore. Worst case, he pushes his Jim away which would just be better for the kid in the long run; best case, he gets Kirk to finish what Spock wasn't dastardly enough to finish. They both know Jim's waiting for something Leonard knows isn't going to happen. There are no happy endings here so it's better to be cruel to be kind now, rather than drag this out for the long haul. "Just the usual terror and torture then, huh?"

Jim closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten. "That's not fair, Bones. I'm not him."

"Life ain't fair Jim. You'd think you'd figure that out by now." It's been drummed into Leonard's head pretty good now; his recent brush with unfairness leaving footnotes from the essay of cruelty carved into his bones.

This line of conversation is just a rocky path towards a dead end that exposes too many of Jim's own ghosts, never mind what's haunting the doctor. The last few days have been rough and it looks like today doesn't want to shape up any different. Jim wracks his brain for a safe topic to steer them towards, a task that seems simpler in intention than actuality. He settles for something that's sure to warm Leonard's heart. "I talked to Joanna."

The change in McCoy is instantaneous, like Jim threw a bucket of ice cold water on him. His passive indifference to Kirk's presence is replaced with wild animalistic desperation and viciousness.

 _"Jo will be fine. I promise. I'll gut anyone that dares to speak her name let alone lay a finger on her."_

"You promised you wouldn't do that, that you'd take care of her!" All Leonard can hear is the pounding of his heart as it thunder in his ears. Kirk gave his word and like everything else in this universe it's a mirage of virtue. Apparently protecting Jo from anyone, doesn't include Jim himself; fine print in the contract of his promise.

It doesn't matter the universe, that's his little girl and he'll drag his broken body across shattered dilithium crystals to keep the likes of Kirk from harming a hair on her perfect head. Kirk's got him pinned to the bed before he can muster any kind of assault of his own, as pitiful an attempt as it would be in his condition. Despite his determination, he's just not strong enough yet to shake off Kirk, leaving only one avenue. "Please don't hurt her," he begs, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. "I'll do anything you want, be anyone you want, just don't hurt Jo." If Kirk wants to pretend Leonard is his Bones than he'll do his damnedest to be that blood thirsty killer if it means his daughter is safe from harm.

Jim backs away like he's been burned. It's a hell of a thing to be accused of; that he would intentionally hurt a kid, let alone his best friend's daughter. "I would never," stammers Jim, because that's the god's honest truth. He thought he knew what a fucked up world McCoy has been sucked into, but listening to McCoy offer his soul up, to willingly become one of those butchers just to protect Jo from him, breaks the captain.

Jim keeps backing up until he hits the wall, like putting physical distance between himself and Leonard's desperate pleas and biting accusations will lessen their impact. The nurses come in, hypos at the ready with sedatives; the silent alarm monitoring McCoy's vitals having alerted them to his distress. Normally, Jim would be the one trying to comfort McCoy and smooth out his troubles before resorting to chemical warfare, but this time he's the undeniable cause of them. Maybe he always has been.

Jim slips out the door, silent and unnoticed, just like the coward he always feared he was. He's stood up to drunks, dictators, Romulans, the unknown, and a warp core, and held his ground, but what's back in that room has brought Jim to the end of his rope with nothing to hold on to. He can't shoot or punch his way out of this. The only weapon in his arsenal that's possibly any good is his stubbornness, and it's quite possible McCoy can out stubborn him.

He beats a hasty "tactical" retreat, or so he tells himself. Anything sounds better than running away. He's tried that maneuver before in his life too, and it usually ends with Jim unconscious on a bar room floor.

God he really needs Pike to pick him up off the ground right now and tell him it's going to be alright. He needs to get solid ground under him once more and alleviate the fear that he'll spend the rest of his life trying to convince McCoy that he's not the monster. The only other people than Pike who have ever saved Jim from drowning in the black of the universe are Spock and McCoy. McCoy's broken and he certainly doesn't need a Vulcan lecture right now. He could go for commiserating with his old pal Johnny Walker; he always has a bottle for emergencies and this is a total break glass in case of emergency situation. His CMO would frown on rigorous day drinking, but screw it. The man's otherwise occupied with his own demons and day is just an artificial construct on a space station anyways.

* * *

Uhura leans against the wall and waits for the apprehension crawling over her skin like a million hungry ants to die down. Her feet want to carry her down the corridor, out the door and back to the world. There is still time to act on her fear and cowardice; the nurse is still with McCoy and he hasn't seen her lurking in the hall yet. She could still slip away unseen without anyone the wiser.

She grits her teeth and holds her ground. It's only lunch with a friend. A simple act that she's performed a million times before. She even has the safety net of only having a designated amount of time before she has to return to shift; an excuse to flee if it becomes too much. It isn't like they've never shared a meal before or that she hasn't visited someone in medbay, but it breaks her heart to see Leonard in such a state. He's the one that puts them back together, makes _them_ whole. What if they aren't up to the task of returning the favor?

They certainly dropped the ball the last few months and shamefully none of them had even been aware he'd been missing for five days. She shudders to think what might have happened if that discipline report hadn't caught Kirk's eye. Uhura shakes her head to try and dispel the image of McCoy pale and bleeding out in a world where those he trusts lived to abuse that trust. She had been selfish before, brushing off their lunch dates in favor or things that weren't even important enough that she can recall them now. Now she will prioritise better.

Nurse Chapel smiles as she steps out of McCoy's room. "You can go in now if you like but I have to warn you, he's a little grumpy today."

Uhura smiles back. "I'll keep that in mind."

Chapel looks back at the door with an air of melancholy and a hesitancy to leave. McCoy's more than just a boss, he's a calm steady presence in an emergency that reassures them they can weather any storm. Even when he is flappable and cantankerous there's an underlying feeling of protectiveness that's hard to ignore. The doctor refuses to lie down and die for any of his patients which makes seeing him so resigned and subjugated by the terror of his experience so heartbreaking. They're all prepared to fight for him just as hard as he's ever fought for any of them but she fears the battle is all but lost if Leonard has already raised the white flag.

Nyota can't see McCoy from her angle at the door but she can see the empty chair at his bedside. "Where's Captain Kirk?" The captain his been a permanent fixture in medbay since they got McCoy back so his sudden absence fills Uhura with dread.

Chapel purses her lips together and breaks eye contact with the Lieutenant. "He left," she says regretfully. "Doctor McCoy had become quite agitated earlier and when we stepped in, the Captain stepped out."

"When did he say he'd be back?"

"He didn't. We didn't even realize he had left until we calmed Doctor McCoy down and Captain Kirk was no longer in the room. He hasn't been on the floor since nor has he called for an update." There's no condemnation or worry over the captain's exit in her eyes, only sorrow.

"Alright," says Nyota. She forces her professional smile on her face. It's a game they all seem to play; fake cheery sentiment to hide the raggedy holes in themselves, everyone pretending to be alright until they can hide away in their own rooms and give into the despair and anguish at what has been done to their friend. Even worse than that, is the moment of relief, that by the grace of divine mercy, what could have so easily been anyone of them, was not. They're all broken porcelain figures, carefully glued back together yet one bump away from falling into a million sharp jagged pieces.

A journey of a thousand miles starting with one step, Uhura takes hers by walking into Leonard's room.

McCoy's head lulls away from the window with as much effort and enthusiasm as he's put into anything else lately. It's not Kirk, returned to pester him with good intentions or perhaps lull him into a false sense of security. It's not even a member of the medical staff, that he's admittedly making their jobs more difficult. If he could feel remorse, he's feel it for them, but all he has is terror or numbness these days. "What are you doing here?" he snaps, because he has no energy for games or the bullshit his head creates.

"It's Thursday," says Uhura sweetly. "We have lunch on Thursdays."

* * *

Spock presses the doorbell on the control pad and waits for his captain's summons. He doesn't have to wait long for a brittle, "come," echoes through the door. The door slides open and Spock hesitates for a moment before stepping inside. The apartment is dark, covered in shadows from the simulated dusk that heralds Yorktown night.

Jim's sitting on the floor in front of his couch, knees pulled tight to his chest and a bottle clutched tightly in his hand. He's long past the formalities of glassware or pretending that he's on the floor by intention. He rubs at his eyes, hoping to remove all traces of the pity party he'd been throwing but while the tears will wipe away, only a good night sleep will remove the red puffiness of crying.

"You don't got a beard," slurs Kirk as he looks the intruder of his solitude up and down. There's a flicker of disappointment that it's not Spock from the other universe come back to finish him off. It would be fitting after all; Jim is the architect of all their problems. All the chess pieces either fall for him or to get to him. McCoy gave him friendship when he desperately needed a good friend and Jim made him a target.

"Indeed. Lights to forty-five percent," commands Spock before moving over to help Jim off the floor and onto the couch. While he doesn't understand this human need for self punishment as a means to put off problems, he's unsurprised to find Kirk in what is clearly an inebriated state. Nyota's recounting of the afternoon suggested as much.

Jim's loath to release the bottle, but allows it to slip from his fingers at Spock's behest. He fights the urge to squirm and fidget at the thought of an impending reprimand while Spock's in the kitchen exchanging the bottle for coffee. A warm cup is pressed firmly into his hands, the warmth chasing away some of the discomfort. He doesn't deserve to be taken care of right now, least of all by Spock. "Sorry about... your face." It isn't a graceful apology or even adequate, but it's a start. Just another mistake he'll spend the rest of his life trying to make up for because like McCoy, Spock deserves no less.

"The circumstances were understandable, therefore there is no need to apologise. You are, however, forgiven. I believe that is the proper response in this human custom?"

A small smile curves Jim's lips. "Yeah, that's how it goes, Spock," he says wistfully, as though things could be that simple. A thick weighted silence settles over them, neither with the answers to make things as they were. They sit together on the couch forcing time to slow down and stand still while they take a moment's respite. "I don't think I can go back in there, Spock," confesses Jim, so quietly Spock's Vulcan hearing almost misses it.

Spock sits there pensively. The situation is wrought with messy and unpredictable emotions he has spent his whole life trying to repress and yet seeing the fear in McCoy's eyes when he stepped into the room and know some incarnation of him is responsible for it, has left him haunted. He has no easy solutions for this problem no matter how many times he runs the equation. "I believe you will find the strength. It is our duty to be there for the doctor."

"That's easy to say when he won't let you in the room. Bones never gives up on me and all I want to do today is run. How fucked up is that? The guy brings me back from the dead and I'm having a hard time dealing with what surviving that hell has done to him."

"It' is not easy to see doctor McCoy in a state. I too, am finding it difficult to come to terms with my counterpart's actions in this circumstance." There are images and emotions tumbling around in Spock's mind that are not his own, yet troubling beyond the fact that they are not his. He's been struggling to make sense of them since he accidently touched Leonard. Meditation hasn't even allowed him to crack the code yet.

Jim aches at just how deep this wound is for them. He's not so self-absorbed that he hasn't noticed the rest of the crew struggling but to hear Spock admit it, really brings home the intensity of the ripples from this wave. The alcohol, despite its mass consumption, isn't doing its job to numb Jim. If anything, he feels everything more. "So what are we going to do?"

"The same as we always do; handle the problem one at a time. Tomorrow we make sure Doctor McCoy receives the surgery on his hand."

* * *

Jim has very little idea what they're talking about. They could be using all their fancy medical terms to discuss putting a centurion fire fish's head on a sparrow for all he knows. He lost the particulars of the conversation early on, but the important part is that they're going to try and fix Leonard's hand; that much he can follow. He forces himself to pay attention anyways because one of them should and Leonard is giving all the signals that he's not really listening all that intently. What matters is M'Benga understands and probably Leonard when he is paying attention and more importantly Dr Tri'youl can put what she's talking about into action. All Jim needs is the end result. Fixing McCoy's hand might be the first step to making Leonard whole.

He'll go with M'Benga's recommendation and possibly McCoy's objection if there is one. The decision is Leonard's but ultimately Jim has the final say as Leonard's medical proxy since there's ample proof that McCoy might not be of sound mind given the circumstances, should Leonard make a decision that's not in his best interest. Jim desperately hopes McCoy makes the _right decision_ so Jim doesn't have to overrule him, which promises to be all kind of messy should it happen. Mostly he just hopes no one frames this procedure in the form of a question so there is no decision to make.

"You'll be able to watch the whole thing as we go, as I'm sure you'll be curious enough to have me walk you through it as we..."

"No," says McCoy, eyes fixated on the scuff mark on the wall he's been staring at since Dr Tri'youl walked into the room. Her overly sunny disposition rubbed him the wrong way from the get go and her constantly poking and prodding his damaged hand just makes him feel like a choice cut of meat ready to be consumed.

"No, what?" she asks, taken aback. It's the first actual word he's said all day instead of the non committal grunts he's blessed them with so far.

"No I don't want to be awake for it," says with biting authority.

"It's not something we need to put the patient under for. In fact, it would go a lot smoother if you were awake."

"God damn it, I said no!" Leonard punctuates his point by pushing his untouched breakfast tray off his table. The contents go crashing to the floor. He had an up close view the first time his hand was smashed and sliced into, he doesn't need to see it again, ever. His stomach rolls at the prospect of seeing blood and bone and muscle so close to a scalpel.

"Bones," huffs Jim, like he's scolding a child as he bends over to pick up as much of McCoy's mess as possible.

"But," starts Dr Tri'youl, recovering from the shock of Leonard's outburst.

McCoy just crosses his arms across his chest and sulks like the child Jim scolded.

"He clearly doesn't want to be awake for it," says Jim, making eye contact with Leonard as he puts the tray back on the table. Apparently the Winona Kirk look of exasperated disappointment is genetic, because Jim's face makes it of its own volition. If eight year old Jim could see himself now, he'd die of disbelief that that look could ever form on his face. Jim's supposed to be the petulant child not Leonard. Jim's too far out of his depth here, and there doesn't seem to be a lifeguard on duty.

"But..."

"Is it strictly necessary? I mean, can you do it with him out?" asks Jim, because this isn't a battle he wants to fight McCoy on; especially when he can see where Leonard's hang-ups might be on the subject.

"I suppose we could, " starts Dr Dr Tri'youl.

"We can," assures Dr M'Benga, jumping in hopes of defuse things slightly.

"Great!" says Jim, forcing an overly cheerful smile on his face. "Now when all's said and done, what are we looking at in terms of recovery?"

"There will be physical therapy after everything is healed. We can manage that with our medical staff. Probably three months after we start, Leonard will be able to do most things with his left hand. Five months for finer, more delicate things," reports M'Benga. While he would never rush a patient's recovery, and he won't push Leonard's, there's the underlying question that lingers in regards to what happens when the Enterprise is rebuilt and ready to continue her mission. If there's something McCoy requires that Enterprise cannot provide or any chance that Leonard cannot serve then his place in the crew compliment will be in jeopardy. Given the nature of their mission, it won't be a matter of coming back for the doctor when he is ready. A game plan needs to be in place before the ship is ready to depart, whatever that may be.

"Surgery?" asks Jim hopefully. It is the elephant in the room, the million credit question and the catalyst for this specialized surgery. Leonard could absolutely live a normal life with his hand as it is now but if he wants to continue to be in Starfleet and more importantly practice medicine in the capacity he did before being kidnapped than they need to restore his hand to one hundred percent.

M'Benga looks away.

"Actually," Dr Tri'youl jumps in, "I've been doing some things with Deltarian eel enzymes that look promising. Now keep in mind it's still experimental, but with your permission Leonard, I'd like to try it. I think it can get us close to ninety-five percent of your normal dexterity. The process will be longer but I think it's the best chance."

"That sounds promising," Jim says. "What do you think Bones?"

What does Leonard think? Everyone is so busy talking about him like he's not in the room, he's gotten a pretty good picture of what his future will look like. He's been cut apart for other people's pleasure, revenge and now experiment and he's endured it all because other people want or need it. Mostly he's tired of being a mere play thing for people. "Do whatever you want. Everyone else has already."

"Leonard, this surgery is promising but it you have an objection to it we can postpone it," tries M'Benga. "I do highly recommend you go through with it though, both as your physician and your friend."

McCoy's tempted to flip them off, with his bad hand, just for added spite but it's still pretty bandaged to be really effective at getting his point across and oh yeah, the fact that Sulu took great pleasure in breaking his middle finger repeatedly for kicks that it's probably in worse shape than the finger he actually tried to cut off. He settles for rolling his eyes and glaring instead.

He's depressed, with serious notes of PSTD and has a decent chance at being declared insane but he's not stupid. There's no way he can legal ability to _officially_ make decisions right now so that falls into Kirk's purview as his medical proxy. At best, Leonard could kick up a fuss so bad a lawyer is brought in to remove that power from Kirk but someone else would have to be appointed. His only blood is his daughter, who is too young for the task and his mother, who is too old to have that kind of stress put on her. That means possibly a lawyer who will go with these people's recommendation anyways or god help him his ex-wife could receive the task based on the fact that she was his previous medical proxy. Leonard will probably end up an organ donor before he's actually dead if Jocelyn gets her claws on him right now.

Leonard chokes down a laugh as it occurs to him that Kirk and Jocelyn would be perfect for one another. Both were close to him, people he would die for, and both would gladly hold his still beating heart in their hands. Or even Jocelyn and Spock. Those two both frustrate him on a level no one else has and seem to take diverse pleasure in his pain and suffering. It's a match made in heaven and Leonard can be the wedding feast.

Everyone gives Leonard a questioning look, but he can't be bothered to share the joke or try and explain the dark turn his humor has taken of late. "So we're going to do this?" asks Jim.

Leonard plasters on a fake smile for everyone. It's a broken thing, reminiscent of an evil clown on a murder spree. "Whatever you think is best, Jim."

"We can get started now," offers M'Benga leading the charge out of the room to begin prep.

There's an energy in the room that wasn't there before. All the vultures that have been circling Leonard have been satisfied by his acquiescence. They all leave the room taking their clouds of positivity with them. A nurse comes in to start the prep work of removing the bandages from McCoy's hand and getting him ready for surgery.

Leonard tries to push down the sick feeling slithering and turning in his gut like a snake. He doesn't even have good memories of sickbay anymore, a place that was practically his home on Enterprise. His last brushes with sickbay are haunting. It's here that he was forced to standby helplessly and watch Ensign Marley die of a completely treatable allergic reaction and Lieutenant Kyle receive a phaser blast to the chest instead of treatment. It's here that Spock had Nurse Chapel insert his agonizer.

Pain flares in his chest under the bright new pink skin above where his agonizer was. He clenches his eyes tightly closed and wills it to pass. M'Benga insists he removed the device but honestly, Leonard has no proof of that and it feels like it's still there. He's going to end up in an operating room at the mercy of who knows and there's nothing he can do to stop it; he's out of fight. He's a lamb to the slaughter.

"It's not going to work you know," says Jim coming back into the room.

Leonard's prepared to ask what, but Jim continues as he moves to stand behind the nurse still focused on McCoy's hand. "They can pull out whatever crazy experimental thing they want but we both know you'll never be qualified to perform surgery again."

Leonard does know it, but to hear it out loud stings. There's nothing to hide behind after the surgery; they'll have their answer and the stark reality will be he has no value as the CMO of a starship. The best he can hope for is medical research or teaching at the academy and even that's dependant on his psych evaluations.

"What does a washed up, mentally unbalanced doctor do when they get drummed out of Starfleet?" asks Jim with an all too familiar smug and sarcastic edge. "Does he go back home to Earth and play daddy to a kid he never sees? Will you go crawling back to Jocelyn and beg for any scraps of Joanna she might be willing to part with?"

Each question feels like another blow far more painful than a knife to the chest. The nurse is oblivious to Leonard's discomfort but Jim is not. He's practically feeding on Leonard's deep seeded fears.

"I imagine not, she won't have you. No family, no friends and no medical career. What did you survive all that for?" poses Jim, like he can't possibly fathom the answer.

Leonard's throat goes dry. Jim's always had a way of seeing the future. It's mostly fuelled by his cockiness but Jim's been sure about things other's thought impossible. He was right about being done with Starfleet Academy in three years and about making captain long before anyone thought he'd see command of anything. Jim's most certainly right about this because even Leonard can see it.

The gentle hiss of a hypo spray reminds McCoy that the nurse is still in the room. He can feel the anesthetic start to pull him under before he even has to ask what she just injected him with. His eyelids are growing heavy and the room is starting to fade as M'Benga starts issuing order to move Leonard to surgery. As they roll through the door, Jim's magically already outside waiting for McCoy to pass like he hadn't been in the room a second before.

"I'll be right here when you get out," says Jim, radiating positivity and reassurance, as the anaesthesia takes effect.


	7. Chapter 7

There's an empty silence surrounding Leonard that's as alarming as it is comforting. It's as void as the darkness, that's wrapped its protective arms around him, shielding him from the light. He's been searching for peace and quiet ever since he got back and unable to obtain it amongst the well meaning intentions of friends, coworkers and medical staff and the unrelenting haunting nightmares. It wasn't that long ago he was desperate for the glimpse of a friendly face and now he has so much ' _quality time_ ' with everyone it's making him sick. Jocelyn always said he'd make an excellent hermit living in a cave somewhere.

There's no sound what so ever, which is strange because star bases, like starships, have a constant soothing background buzz. Furthermore, medbay has a life affirming hum that's disturbingly absent. Leonard spares a thought to entertain the idea that perhaps he's dead; the last few days nothing more than the desperate prayer of his soul to find peace in his final seconds as he bleeds out on that white pristine planet. Others see their fondest moments flash before their eyes and he gets to hallucinate misery.

His limbs feel like lead weights, tying him to this mortal coil that the alternate universe tried so very hard to rip him from. The living embodiment of a ghost, sentenced to haunt his former life for eternity. He's too detached and too tired to care it though. As long as it's quiet, and free of the struggle that has become every day, he's good with whatever.

Leonard just kind of floats there, in the nothingness, enjoying the complete lack of everything. Every worry and concern that has been plaguing him is gone, like he misplaced them. There's a flicker in the back of his mind that his current mellowness is far superior to any night spent drinking - like he was going for the record. Drugs; a point that should spur concern, but they must be doing their job because he's content to drift for as long as possible. He could live in this space forever.

Even drugged out bliss isn't enough to stop the darkness from turning on him. Spock appears in the dark, like Satan bursting through the gates of hell in all his fiery glory. Spock's nightmare personified, his hand stretching out for Leonard like a reaper reaching for the next soul to drag to hell under the cover of eternal darkness and torment.

Leonard's eyes snap open wide as the Vulcan's hand clasps firmly over his mouth, silencing any protest the doctor could launch. He tries to fight, to scream, but no sound comes out and his traitorous body refuses to move; not one single inch. He's as helpless as he's been in every engagement with Spock.

Spock's strong to begin with, but Leonard's so weak and feeble he can't even begin to hope to shake the monster off now. Fear is griping his lungs as they fight desperately to suck in air, ripping into and shredding them into useless tatters in his chest. Leonard's the terrified mouse with his tail trapped under a cat's paw- nowhere to hide and the breath of imminent death creeping down his neck. For Spock's part, he looks about as put out as when he's filing a report submitted by a subordinate and hour late and with a spelling error in the first line. Apparently, Leonard's terrified fight for survival isn't entertaining enough.

The Vulcan's long fingers twitch, spreading to cover Leonard's nose, cutting off his air supply completely. What does it say about McCoy's life that that is the second scariest thing Spock can do with his fingers pressed against his face? Tears sting his eyes in anticipation of the mental onslaught of horrors Spock is no doubt planning on sharing.

The gentle buzzing in his ears and black spots in his vision are signalling asphyxiation starting to settle in. His body is doing everything it can to try and get air but it's a futile effort. The last thing he's going to see in this world is Spock's ugly mug staring dispassionately down at him like he's some kind of bug to dispose of.

Spock leans forward and carefully whispers in Leonard's ear, "We're not done yet."

Leonard locks eyes with him as a feeling of dread far worse that of the cold hands of death pulling him under sends a cascade of sparks through his being.

Leonard bolts up, gasping and pawing at his neck. The beeping on the biobed monitor spikes as McCoy's heart pounds in his chest and his lungs feel like they'll burst as he sucks in oxygen like a starving man. His eyes dart around the room like a wild animal being chased by a vicious and unrelenting predator.

He's completely alone in his room; the soft light of evening illuminating all corners of his perfectly safe and empty room. The familiar ache that defines his life settles back into place as his chest stops heaving.

His hand is swathed in a myriad of bandages and protective casing to prevent any movement on the patient's part that could disrupt the surgeon's good work. To Leonard, it's nothing more than a shackle, constantly reminding him of his inescapable misery. The surgery is over and he's been left to sleep off the lingering remnants of the anaesthesia. He carefully probes his neck with his good hand, just to prove to himself that Spock's not really here. At least not _that_ Spock.

Despite believing it was all just another horrible nightmare, Leonard can't shake the unsettled feeling turning his gut. He lies back down to try and chase the shadow of sleep but the weight of fear is keeping him awake. He's tense, rigid and finding it impossible to relax; the childish fear that Spock will emerge out of the darkness like the boogieman is like a thousand needles poking into him, keeping him on edge in anticipation.

Jim maybe adamant that they left that monster back in another universe, but Leonard knows Spock will keep his promise. Universal boundaries didn't stop him before and there is no logic in breaking a promise.

* * *

The morning silence is claustrophobic and filled with tension. It hangs in the recycled air giving it a foul tang. This room is a far cry from those on the Enterprise with the constant and reassuring hum of the engines and the flow of medical staff. No, this quiet and secluded medroom on Yorktown feels like an oppressive jail cell and McCoy's just waiting for his execution date. His executioner promised he'd finish it, but McCoy can't see Spock showing any mercy by making it quick.

The staff that comes in to check on his vitals are friendly enough, but he doesn't know them, doesn't want to either; not while there's familiar screams and faces rattling around in his head still. It's fake cheer anyways, projected by professionals that are either too polite or entrenched in pity for him to let his bitterness and all around misery crack their facade.

None of them seem to understand he just wants to be left alone to rot in peace. They don't understand, couldn't possibly. He can't trust strangers, not when he doubts his friends and fears the soulless monsters he's seen them as aren't going to emerge here.

Physical therapy and trauma counselling are just Band-Aids to make everyone _else_ feel better about stuffing him back into a life he's not sure he fits or wants anymore. It's ironic considering how hard he fought to get back to it but wanting is always better than having. He pulls the blankets tightly over his head but they do nothing to block out the silence and its accusations against him.

Dr Tri'youl's already been in with her self-congratulations and glowing enthusiasm over what appears to be her best effort to give Leonard back his livelihood. It's a trait he can't stand in colleagues and abhors even more being on the opposite side of the situation. It's a feather in her cap but it's his life and he has to live with the success and short comings everyday while she moves on to something new. Everyone seems to want to bet on a miracle, that Leonard will grab onto the slim odds of getting through this one hundred percent with a little time and therapy, yet Leonard's always considered himself a pragmatist.

Twenty percent. He has a twenty percent chance of being a surgeon again. It falls well within Starfleet's parameters for his continued service in the fleet and onboard the Enterprise but not in the same capacity as he signed on for. He can still practice medicine, diagnose patients, prescribe drugs and courses of treatment. He's still able to run his department and impart all his wisdom to those that serve beneath him, just not the part he loves. What happens when Jim does something monumentally stupid and only Leonard can save him, but he has to hand it off to someone else that doesn't have the talent Leonard once did, because he doesn't have the dexterity to see the situation through? Having to leave the fate of his patients, his _friends,_ in someone else's hands? It'll kill him.

"You seem better today," offers Jim, entering Leonard's room on the heels of dawn with an armful of PADDs and a precariously balanced bag of takeout. Leonard doesn't answer as Jim assumes the position, spreading his stuff out on the table. Jim grimaces at the mush on Leonard's breakfast tray, poking at it with the fork. "You gonna eat that?"

Jim doesn't wait for a response, removing the tray and depositing it on a side table. He'd like to meet the person that decided unflavored mushy oatmeal was good for recovering patients and argue that anyone unfortunate enough to be in sickbay for breakfast has already suffered enough. He rummages around in the bag he replaced the tray with, pulling out a box of Edosian sweet cakes with Kzinti jam from a bakery he sniffed out shortly after their return from the nebula. It isn't Mrs McCoy's baking that Leonard raves and compares all other baked goods to, but it's the closest Jim could find on a space station. In comparison to medical sanctioned food, it'll be orgasmic and definitely capable of raising Leonard's spirits. And Jim could use a little comfort food himself, not to mention a couple cups of coffee.

Leonard looks like he could use a hypospray of caffeine himself, despite having more color than yesterday, and judging by the critical stare he's giving Jim as he watches every move the captain makes with hawk like intensity, Leonard is far more with it, than the incoherent babbling he was spewing at Jim upon first becoming semi conscious after surgery.

"You know there's a reason medbay serves up bland breakfasts," huff Leonard, as Jim offers him a jam smothered muffin. He doesn't mean to foam at the mouth, especially with the people trying to help but it's just how it comes out. He's got a bone to pick with the universe and currently he's laid up and trapped like a caged animal. It's one of the wedges that came between him and Jocelyn; he'd lash out at what she thought was well meaning help when all he wanted was to be left alone to deal with his demons. It just soured her attempts into harsh criticism and the vicious cycle of her under cutting him and him snapping at her went round and round until it imploded in an affair and a messy divorce with enough blame to throw around to cover the whole state of Georgia.

Jim just shrugs and proceeds to stuff the muffin in his mouth before reclaiming 'his' chair. Leonard's acting like a lion with a thorn in his paw and Jim has every intention of waiting him out until the anger dissipates and he can be the mouse that pulls said thorn out. It's his penance for all the times he slinked out of sickbay, against McCoy's explicit wishes, to engage in some death defying stunt. It's much more fun being on the other side than being the worrier and punching bag.

For the first time in years an awkward silence falls between them that Jim doesn't know how to fill. He's talked with Leonard's surgeon and then promptly sought out M'Benga to get confirmation on the information and have someone translate it into a form of English Jim can understand. Someone really needs to program medical speak into standard for the universal translator.

Everyone is really optimistic, yet Jim can see the shadow of doubt lingering in their eyes and carefree smiles. No one can bring themselves to say this might be the obstacle the talented crew of the Enterprise can't beat. He also knows Leonard and just what's on the line for him and anything less than one hundred percent is going to kill the southern doctor. _This_ , is something that should have Leonard frothing at the mouth with complaint and criticism or at least condemnation and all Jim's getting is silence- stone cold, unfeeling silence.

Jim's realized he's the chattier one between the two of them; the off set to McCoy's slight favoring of his introvert tendencies. McCoy is certainly anything but taciturn when he has something or someone to complain about. In fact if Leonard wasn't having a melt down on the shuttle in Riverside on the way to the academy, Jim probably wouldn't have given the doctor a second thought. While they fell into an easy friendship, Leonard didn't open up to Jim on personal matters until their second year, despite knowing some of Jim's more sordid details early on. So it makes Leonard's silence now, when he has everything to complain about, all the more unnerving.

"I talked to ..." starts Jim, daring to break the ice.

"Nope!" snaps Leonard, sharp and final with no room for argument.

It stuns Jim for a second. "You don't know what I was going to say," he counters.

"We're not talking about this," Leonard insists. He can't stomach any more platitudes.

"This?" asks Kirk. He damn well knows what _this_ is, but playing stupid might be the subterfuge he needs to get the doctor to open up.

Leonard rolls his eyes. "Stupid ain't a good look on ya kid. And batting those blue eyes ain't gonna make me fall in bed with ya, so I guess you're out of tricks." Low blows are quickly becomes his specialty. It doesn't feel good to carve out a pound of flesh from Jim's hide but Leonard consoles himself with the idea that hurting the kid now will spare him the pain later when Jim finally realizes he's going to have to leave Leonard behind. He needs to be cruel to be kind, the fact that it rolls off his tongue without thought or effort, just makes it easier.

"Bones," sighs Jim, rubbing his temple in preparation of the emerging headache. "I don't want to fight," he says glumly and perhaps a little broken, "I'm too tired to fight." The candle has been burning at both ends since he learned McCoy was missing. If that wasn't enough to weigh him down, he has to deal with the fallout of the other universe, oversee the rebuild of the Enterprise and most important look after his friend. With all these balls in the air, it's just a matter of time before he drops one.

"Then don't." Leonard doesn't feel much like fighting for himself, let alone watching Jim fight an unwinnable battle on his behalf. It would take a miracle for everything to turn out as it was before and Leonard's used up more miracles than anyone one else. It's too much and too unfair to expect another one now.

Jim hangs his head. He's trying to come up with plan B, C, D, hell E through Z if he has to, and nothing is simple. He'll search the galaxy to find something to make Leonard whole; he just needs Leonard to come with him.

Leonard fakes sleep, a habit he's gotten into when he can't stomach company and (mostly Jim) they won't leave. Jim just does his best to be quiet and facilitate the lie instead of calling Leonard on it. He uses this time to catch up on all the work he's ignoring and his duties he's been deferring to other crewmen. Before they leave and resume their mission, he'll make sure the crew gets the greatest shore leave possible; they deserve it.

* * *

Relief and disappoint washes over Leonard when he wakes to find Jim still sitting beside him. Every time he wakes up, he holds his breath as he tires and figure out if it was a dream and he's still there, because no rescue transported into hell to retrieve him or he made it out of there. And if that wasn't bad enough, he needs a moment to figure out if he's trapped in a nightmare or actually in the real world. Seeing Jim there is a comfort, a reminder that perhaps the Vulcan doesn't own his soul. It quickly turns sour, because Jim is also a reminder that it did happen and what he's lost. It also signifies he hasn't been able to shake his barnacle loose. Jim seems willing to take more of his crap than Jocelyn ever did.

Jim has a fine-tuned McCoy sense; he doesn't even have to look up to know the doctor is awake and/or irritated with him. "Starfleet needs your report about what happened over there," says Jim, tapping away at his PADD. "I've tried to stall them as long as possible but you know the brace gets impatient with things that are potential security problems."

Potential is an understatement. A doppelganger walked onto their station and kidnapped one of their officers. Like Nero, it wasn't something they saw coming, but they will be more prepared in the future. Everyone else has submitted their report in regards to their unauthorized rescue mission and Starfleet Command has been somewhat patiently waiting for the key piece of the puzzle that McCoy can offer. McCoy is going to live; there's no need to wait anymore.

Leonard counters, "What if I don't want to?" just to be contrary. He doesn't want to talk about it; the last thing he wants is to write a detailed report regarding his time in that hell. Worse, he can't help but feel there might be repercussions for his friends if he details what they were capable of in that other universe. Will the brace ever look at Kirk and Spock the same way once Leonard depicts them as savage monsters?

McCoy selfishly wants Starfleet to discharge him, that way he can blame them and not have to form the words himself. He just doesn't know if he can go back out in the black with the Enterprise crew anymore. He knows he can't stomach staying here and the thought of serving with another crew is lackluster. He's too broken to start over again. What does that leave him?

Jim looks critically at Leonard, trying to find any sign that his friend believes what he's saying. "It's your obligation as a Starfleet officer. I can compose it for you if you want to give me the details, assuming you think you might have difficulties..." He trails off, unsure how to finish his thought. Writing a coherent report? Putting it all together? He's not sure which part is giving Leonard difficulty.

"Maybe I don't want to be an officer anymore." The words hurt; perhaps they hurt Jim more to hear than for Leonard to say. This was his phoenix moment, rising from the ashes of a shattered life to find a new one within Starfleet, with a purpose and friends so close they're family and that pointed eared hobgoblin is going to make him throw it away.

Jim shakes his head. "You don't mean that." He has to believe M'Benga is right when he says this is just an affect of the trauma, that Leonard's melancholy will pass and his friend will emerge as he remembers him- a full time but well meaning curmudgeon. They just have to weather the storm until them. "A couple weeks of physical therapy, you'll be good to go and itching to check out what Scotty's putting together for you on our new ship."

"It won't be my sickbay," he grumbles. It won't feel like home, just another attempt to fit a square peg in a round hole and pretend it belongs there. A new ship doesn't need a ghost haunting it so soon after launch.

"Just file your report and we can sort out the details later." Panic is starting to take over. McCoy's had his back for so long, he doesn't know how to live without Leonard there. He owes his career to Leonard; the doctor being the foundation upon which he's been able to make all the crazy impetuous and reckless decisions that secured him a captaincy. He never could have saved the universe from Nero if McCoy hadn't risked his career to smuggle him onboard.

"You're not listening!"

"Bones, we have options, but the first step is your report and getting certified back to some kind of duty." They're on a timeline here and Jim can't afford to have Leonard fight him on this. He's running out of wiggle room to slow and stall the launch of his new ship. They're heading into uncharted territory with few breaks to gather provisions and people. Once they set out on their mission, if McCoy's not onboard, he won't get another chance. Leonard doesn't have to be one hundred percent when they leave, as long as a return to duty is in the foreseeable future.

"You're being selfish Jim," warns Leonard. He sees the look Jim gives him when he thinks Leonard's not looking, like he's looking at a broken bird that will never fly again. It's the same with Uhura who looks at him like he's glass and will shatter at using the wrong word, which is impressive because she knows so many. If any could navigate McCoy's pit falls it should be them so just how broken is he? Jim might think he wants Leonard with him, but Leonard knows the captain will come the regret that decision. Jim just doesn't know any better right now. He's too afraid of having someone close leave him, that he'll put them all in danger.

 _"_ _We're not done yet,"_ haunts Leonard. His nightmare won't let anyone get in the way of consuming him so it's better to push everyone he cares about a safe distance away. Leaving on a sparkly new ship sounds about right.

Jim feels that all too familiar urge to punch something coming over him. "Just write the report, Leonard," he huffs, throwing a PADD in McCoy's lap before gathering his belongings and storming out the door.

Leonard stares at the PADD for a moment, turning it over in his hand as the rage builds. No one's listening to him and subtle sure as hell isn't working. He's pissed, has been for a long time and now he might have found away to unleash it and solve all their problems.

A cautious man would hesitate, let time temper his thoughts and actions; a logical man would spare a moment to weigh the effects of his actions. McCoy is neither. He's always been emotionally driven and right now he's angry. There's a part of him that's sure he'll regret his choice in the coming years, maybe in the light of a new day, but he can't bring himself to see past his brightly burning anger. Screw it, he's nothing if not self-sabotaging anyways. Far too old to turn over a new leaf now, Leonard mounts the only rebellion he can muster with any sort of satisfaction.

The words flow like the punches he wishes he had the strength to throw back in that god awful universe. He writes until his hand feels like it's going to fall off with the intensity of pecking at the keyboard display. Just another demonstration of how unfit he still is to try and reclaim what used to be his life.

It's not a pretty report but it does say all it needs to. Leonard would never certify an officer fit for duty under these circumstances. He'll be tied up with a councillor for forever after this, never mind needing a physical medical certification. His formal request to not serve with Spock aside, there's no way Starfleet will keep him on a ship with a Vulcan that shares a face and name with the one that tortured him like that.

He uploads the report before he can think better of it and change his mind. It's after hours now but it will downloaded bright and early tomorrow morning by someone who can certify him unfit for service or at least unfit to serve aboard the Enterprise when she leaves soon. It's out of his and Jim's hands now. Check and mate, Jim.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapel's here doing general rounds and collecting data with M'Benga when they stop in Leonard's room for his daily poke and prodding. As far as intrusions go, it's a couple of harmless scans that don't require much from Leonard other than to be still. They make small talk, either to make themselves feel less awkward or to try and put him at ease; Leonard's not sure which, but he isn't interested in entertaining either option, so he sits silently, generally avoiding eye contact. Doctors make the worse patients.

McCoy can feel pressure building under his skin, making him squirm. All he can see, are scars the other Chapel had hidden under her dress and her vindictive satisfaction when she cut into him; tit for tat. It makes the pain in his chest flair up, dull and achy at first, building to a crescendo of bright hot sharp pain that feels like a blade impaling him. He knows a thing or two about how that feels, thank you very much Sulu.

"I assure you, Leonard, it's gone," promises M'Benga, seeing his patient absently rubbing the site from which he removed that ungodly torture device. It still gives _him_ nightmares, he can't imagine enduring like Leonard had to. He'd have smashed that device the second he freed it from Leonard's collar bone if the engineering department wasn't eagerly waiting to get their hands on it and dissect its nefarious purpose.

Leonard let's his hand drop in his lap, looking at it like it betrayed him somehow. He's getting a handle on not screaming out loud, he doesn't need the only good hand he has left ratting him out. If that other place taught him anything, it's to not let anyone else see your weaknesses and soft spots. "I'm sure it is," he replies succinctly and devoid of any feeling. Whether the device is there or not, is inconsequential, it's still serving its purpose- torturing and instilling fear.

There's excitement in the air. Everyone is chatting about the impending departure of the Enterprise whether they are a part of her crew or not. Apparently she's got a bit of a reputation now that everyone wants to see this incarnation stretch her legs for the time. Leonard just feels numb. He's unable to summon the energy to be either sad that they're going off without him, soon to leave him behind like space dust, or relieved he won't be stuck on that tin can with the ghosts of trauma past. His future no longer has purpose or direction, just a shapeless black void the likes of which he hasn't known since his ex-wife uttered those fateful words,"They're divorce papers, Leonard. I'm taking Joanna and leaving you."

The irony is he's issuing the 'divorce papers' this time. It doesn't feel any better from this side. Hopefully his motives are slightly more altruistic. He's got a feeling though, they might be more egotistic nature.

Leonard can't begrudge them their happiness but it wears away at his raw exposed nerves. It's like he's forgotten how to make easy, free flowing, light conversation. The weight of his misery pulls all of his thoughts to pretty dark, dank caverns. Equally hard to listen to their joyous prattling, is watching the light fade from their eyes as his darkness spills out, tainting their outlook on life and normal conversations.

It's a testament to M'Benga and Chapel's professionalism and skill that they don't let Leonard get to them. However, familiarity breeds complacency and they should pay more attention to Leonard's sticky fingers as he snags a scanner Chapel's set on his blanket as she turns to grab another instrument. If Leonard were to go back to being the CMO, he'd make a point to review proper protocol regarding keeping track of your tools, but since it's not his problem anymore, he's just glad for the minor slip up.

He's not normally into grand theft medical device, he just needs to satisfy his own morbid curiosity about his condition and the potential removal of Satan's torture device. His caper is successful; M'Benga and Chapel leave with a warm smile and zero clue. As long as he's at the end of their rotation they shouldn't catch on to his deception for a couple of hours. It's plenty of time to do his own medical work up and haphazardly dispose of the scanner so it looks like it was left behind carelessly.

A small part of him knows that if he just asks for the scanner or to see his medical records, his medical team would hand them to him with a smile. That other universe has gotten under his skin, poisoning his soul and making him paranoid. They could always alter the scanner or the results to produce whatever results they want. This way, with the element of surprise, Leonard can be sure of what he sees on the scans.

He hesitates for a moment. Does he really want to know the truth? It isn't out of the realm of possibility that this is all some giant mind fuck in which Spock is the architect. It's elaborate and cruel, all things that Spock excelled at. It could also all be real and these tattered remains are what's left of his life.

Leonard must be a sucker for punishment, because he closes his eyes and runs the device over himself. It beeps and whirls until it chirps its competition. It's the longest couple seconds of Leonard's life.

"Huh."

He thought he would feel something if he had answers: anger, relief, happiness, melancholy- something. The device has been removed and his stats are pretty much what M'Benga has been telling him. This shit show really is his life. He's a goddamn mess and that's all he is anymore.

* * *

There's blood on his hands, in fact there's blood on every square inch of himself. It drips in a steady rhythm off of him, collecting in a puddle on the floor. There are bodies strewn all over the room, ripped apart like some wild animal had at them. This is his handiwork. This is what happens when renegade Romulans claiming to be from the future refuse to submit to the might of the empire. It's Leonard's twisted smile reveling in the massacre, his tunic more purple now than bright science blue.

Leonard's face flickers and flashes like a malfunctioning holomask. There's something underneath but the disruptions aren't long enough for Spock to catch a glimpse as to what or who before the whole image dissolves into a dark cloud of rage.

Spock readjusts himself on his meditation mat. His mind is in turmoil, turning over the images and feelings he inadvertently was assaulted with when he touched Leonard shortly after bringing him home. There aren't enough pieces to get a clear picture, mostly raw emotions, like fear and rage, the likes of which Spock is ill-equipped to deal with. There's something cold and calculating lurking beneath the surface that seems so unlike the doctor, the exact opposite as it were to McCoy's usual warm and impulsive nature. McCoy's a lot of things, perhaps the greatest example of the mess that is human emotion, but vindictive, maliciously so, is not him. It's almost like there is something other than the doctor there.

He's been trying to find some clarity and understanding but the experience has thrown his mind into chaos. Spock's not sure why he needs to figure out what was probably just the traumatized doctor's own psyche processing what happened. He just wants to gain some insight into his counterparts mind set- for scientific purposes, of course, he tells himself.

So far his attempts to reach a deep meditative state have been unsuccessful and it's beginning to wear on him. He needs to put this puzzle to bed. In truth, something like this shouldn't have the hold it does on him. The Vulcan mind can rationalize and break everything down to its basic building blocks so it has nothing more to offer than fact. McCoy was transported to a world where cruelty seems to be the logical manner in which to function. That logic was applied to the doctor. McCoy is a colleague and dare he says friend of Spock's, so it is most troubling to know the doctor suffered so. That should be the end of the story. It is however, not.

He's going to kill Jim. His hands are going to snuff out the life of his best friend. He's going to watch the light dim in those vivid blue eyes and he's looking forward to it, is longing to experience it. He tightens his fingers coaxing hard fought wheezes and gurgles out of Jim as he continues to struggle. It won't matter, he can't out power McCoy. The struggling just makes it sweeter and shamefully familiar to Spock. This is a memory Spock is intimately familiar with and yet it is wildly different than the events that took place on the bridge of his own Enterprise years ago.

Jim has a tendency to piss him off. An underlying ripple of irritation flows through the memory, one that Spock can attribute to the doctor, who makes it no secret that he too is perplexed by some of the Captain's more reckless actions. There are countless reasons he could have snapped his neck like a twig, why did he wait until Jim tried to steal the Enterprise?

There's a sharp stabbing pain of electricity running through him just before he can complete his task. Kirk falls from his grip as he turns sharply to catch the chords attached to two electrodes biting into his back run from him to the taser gun in his, no McCoy's hand. It can't be McCoy's he's looking at; a person can't be in two places at once, and since this is an image from McCoy's mind, it is improbable to be looking at McCoy with a twisted smile of satisfaction on his face as he inflicts pain on another soul.

These images painted in blood are not disrupting Spock's work or daily activities but they are plaguing his attempts at meditation and sleep. The truly disturbing parts are the ones that appear to from a point of view that cannot be the doctor's. He's read the medical reports, and the doctor showed no indication of electrical trauma. Furthermore, the doctor's report from the alternate universe that he had on the data chip claimed the McCoy from that universe was dead. It makes the image of McCoy staring at the chords to a taser as it bites into his skin while a version of himself stares at him impossible, unless Spock wasn't seeing the event through McCoy's eyes. It only raises the question of how could McCoy have someone else's memory in his head?

He simply lacks the data to make any hypothesis. Perhaps further attempts at meditation can yield useful results, but at the moment it seems like an exercise in futility.

The quickest solution would be to explain the incident to the doctor and ask his permission to perform a proper mind meld, to clear up the incomplete images Spock has tumbling around his brain like a pinball. That course of action is, however, a minefield of problems. McCoy has an innate animosity to Vulcan customs and mannerisms in which he seems to share openly with Spock and not other Vulcans, for the most part. Spock suspects it's McCoy's inability to understand why anyone with an option (ie Spock's human half) would not find being human to be the superior option. The second issue is Spock knows McCoy to be a deeply private man and such an intimate and open experience would prevent any such privacy between them. Thirdly, and most importantly, is the doctor's reaction to him based on this counterpart's questionable actions. Spock's not sure he can put McCoy through that to merely satisfy his understanding of the situation.

Spock isn't so unfamiliar with human emotions that he can't see the effect his presence in a room has on the doctor. In close contact, for a mind meld, the reaction could be exponential.

With the simplest and most direct route for answers unobtainable, he puzzles over alternative sources of data. He diligently reads over all the reposts pertaining to the incident but they offer little insight into the parts that are troubling Spock. Even McCoy's report falls short of shedding any light on Spock's current predicament

It appears the only person that can decipher what is now in Spock's head, is McCoy. If what Spock suspects is true, then McCoy needs him to figure it out. Eventually, they will have to be in a room together. The Enterprise is only so big and as members or the senior staff, they will have to work together. A conversation is due and sooner might be better than later.

The most direct route is to simply ask the doctor point blank what the memories mean. Since that is not an option at the moment, Spock has to gain answers without direct questions. He must phrase his questions so the doctor doesn't know what Spock is looking for or that Spock even accidently melded with McCoy earlier.

The next morning Spock sets his breakfast tray next to Jim in the cafeteria of Starfleet's Yorktown headquarters. Jim has been taking his breakfast with Doctor McCoy every morning but today the captain has a series of morning meetings that make it more convenient to eat here. It provides Spock with the opportunity to have a moment of Jim's time outside of official business. While the situation has been horrible for McCoy, Spock can see the toll it is taking on his captain as well.

"Morning Spock," greets Jim around mouthfuls.

"Captain," returns Spock, sitting down.

"How are things?" Jim asks, feeling guilty. He's been so preoccupied trying to help Leonard and make up for dropping that ball that he's been dropping some of the others. One of them being, checking in on how Spock's doing.

"They are well," replies Spock with formality.

Jim's smile is pained. He feels like he's trapped in a bubble, watching the people he used to interact with regularly move around him with ease while he struggles to remember how to converse with them. Devoting his time to Leonard has made his conversation skills rusty. There is no free flowing conversation in medical, just cautious phrases and responses that feel like pulling teeth.

Shame burns deep in Jim's gut as he ponders his resentment of the valley his life is currently stuck in. He can't ask Leonard to be or do anything other than what he's doing now, even if the constant snapping and fighting with Jim hurts. Jim's done far worse to Leonard on many occasions. To quote Leonard, he was as hospitable as a wet cat sucking on a lemon, during the weeks he was confined to sickbay after McCoy found away to bring him back from the dead- the dead! The least he can do now since Leonard disappeared under Jim's watch is be there for the doctor and take as many metaphorical punches as Leonard needs to throw.

"Captain," quires Spock, "do you believe the Doctor would permit me to see him?"

That grabs Jim's full attention. The one thing keeping a modicum of peace has been Spock staying away. Jim hasn't spared much thought to putting the two in the same room again but the two have to see each other eventually. Enterprise A is big, but not big enough that the CMO can avoid the first officer for the duration of their mission. They're both his friends, how are they going to manage if two of the can't be in the same room? It might be better to get it over with now- quick, like ripping a Band-Aid off, and hope the wound underneath doesn't hemorrhage.

"Umm. I'll ask him and get back to you?" stammers Kirk, trying to work out how best to broach the subject with McCoy. This will be a delicate conversation that requires surgical precision. Yesterday left a sour taste in both their mouths; he doesn't particularly want to pick at Leonard's wounds again today.

Spock nods his acceptance. "Of course, Captain."

* * *

It started as a way to get updates on McCoy; compare notes on visits, but it feels more like a support group and a much needed coming together of a group that temporarily lost their cohesion. It's always Chekov, Sulu and Scotty at their lunch meetings. Uhura's there every day except Thursdays when she takes her meal with Leonard in medical. She makes a point to message them after and give them a rundown of her interaction and any tidbits she's garnered from the nurses.

Sulu's husband, Ben, accompanies him on weekdays when Demora is in school. Keenser and Chapel have joined the group once or twice but are usually, understandably, otherwise occupied. Spock cycles through a bit more often, though it's clear he's there more for Uhura than his own need for support. Jim's never around; he's only seen in an official capacity, and even that's a rare sighting. They trust Spock when he indicates he's taking care of the captain, but despite their first officer taking the brunt of the work, it's hard not to notice the effect the doctor's condition is having on Jim when they do catch a glimpse of him.

"Have you been to see him lately?" asks Sulu, watching Chekov push his cold spaghetti around his plate. Sulu saw McCoy once and hasn't been back since. Part of it is for McCoy's benefit and part of it is cowardice on his own part at being unable to see what his presence does to the poor doctor. He made it two steps into the room before his presence turned McCoy into a screaming, shaking mess. As much as he'd like to be there for McCoy, it seems rather cruel to put the doctor through that to simply satisfy Sulu's need to know he's okay. He'll be the first one there once he's sure McCoy has things sorted enough to not be afraid of his crew.

Chekov shakes his head remorsefully. He hasn't gotten the response Sulu and Spock seem to elicit, but McCoy doesn't seem all that at ease around the kid either. If anything, Chekov's presence seems to make him sad. He's never made anyone sad before with simply his presence. "He doesn't seem happy to see me. I can't figure out vat I've done wrong," confesses the ensign.

"You haven't done anything wrong," assures Sulu, resting his hand over top of Chekov's. He holds his smile until the kid returns it. McCoy's the one that went through hell, but the ripples are affecting them all.

"Aye lad. He's just got ta get his head on straight, then everything will be back to normal," agrees Scotty.

"That's easy to say when he doesn't have a problem with you," injects Uhura, feeling hollow. It's going to be much harder for some of them than others. Even if McCoy can move past it, can they? Spock won't say anything but she knows McCoy's violent fear of him is weighing on Spock.

Scotty gives a grim half hearted smile. It's true the doctor doesn't seem to take issue with him; McCoy's irritability seems confined to nothing more than being injured and miserable when the Scotsman is around. He wishes he had more time to visit the doctor but duty calls and someone has to get the Enterprise ready so they can get the hell out of this place. He's kind of glad he has something else taking all of his time. Pretending this is something normal is exhausting too. This isn't like visiting someone in medbay because they suffered a plasma burn or caught Talian flu. This is helplessness. This is watching someone fight for their life after getting mauled by a bear in the woods and being unable to run for help for fear it will come back and finish the job.

"We'll get back out there and everything will be alright. Ya'll see," assures Scotty, though he's not sure he believes it.

They'll get back out there and life will be like it was before the alternate universe, before Yorktown. It will be alright. It has to be.

* * *

For all Jim's uncertainty and apprehension about asking Leonard if he's willing to entertain Spock's request, the answer is pretty calm and simple. "Yes." It leads to a long stretch of silence as Jim tires to wrap his head around it. He's prepared a book's worth of arguments and counterarguments like he was going before the academy board to defend his dissertation- all now useless and unnecessary. He'd spent all day thinking about it when he should have been focused on his meetings. He hadn't considered Leonard might agree at all, let alone right out of the gate; at least not when everything else with Leonard has been its own hard won fight. It's unsettling. He's on red alert because a sneak attack must be imminent.

"It's alright if Spock comes to visit you tomorrow?" repeats Jim, because Leonard must have misheard him. The doctor still wakes up in a cold sweat with Spock's name on his lips and has made no secret about how he feels about sharing the same space as their Vulcan first officer. Jim only asked because Spock's his friend and does, in his own way, care about Leonard.

"Ya getting hard of hearing?" Leonard scowls and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Spock?" asks Jim dumbly. Maybe he's saying it wrong? Some parasite has obviously burrowed its way into his brain, causing him to say the wrong words than the ones he thinks he's saying.

"How many pointed eared bastards do you have on that ship now?" Leonard's patients are growing thin. They're not that thick to start with, and Jim seems hell bent on using up every last one. He's trying to do something nice with his last few days as part of the crew before Starfleet comes in and relives Leonard of his commission and Jim's acting like he's waving a phaser around.

He can be civil for ten minutes with Spock, since after that he'll never see him again. There's no point in making this Spock feel like a criminal for the rest of his life. Fifteen minutes- thirty tops, McCoy can force himself to be in the room with the Vulcan and not see the devil. He'll let Spock say his peace, assure the Vulcan none of this is his fault and be done with it.

Spock will be good and can focus on taking care of Jim who's going to be a wreck when Starfleet gets around to issuing Leonard's dismissal. Jim will need someone to make sure he doesn't do something stupid to try and 'fix' what Leonard's set in motion and he's no longer up to the task of helping anyone. It will be the first hurtle the crew will overcome as a unit without him; a necessary step in the right direction. Any minute now; his decommission is due any minute now.


	9. Chapter 9

Bureaucracy moves about as fast as Neptune circling the sun while the rest of the universe has discovered warp speed, so it isn't surprising when there's no fallout from McCoy's report the following morning. It's just a little disappointing. He'd hope it would have come through by now. Chief Medical officer is an important position to fill, especially for a five year mission. It can't just be any medical school graduate in Starfleet. Starfleet will have to send someone out toYorktown and Jim will have to approve them.

Leonard wanted today to be an apparent goodbye meeting. Spock could come in, say whatever is on his blasted Vulcan mind and Leonard could offer some half felt farewell and then rest contently with the knowledge that it's one ghost he can put to bed. Pretending life is going to go back to the way it was _before_ , is exhausting.

Jim will be the first sign that Leonard's officially put out to pasture. The captain will unleash a cosmic storm of denial, outrage with a vortex of saviour complex swirled in. He'll burst into medical to tear McCoy a new one while alternating with needy desperate codependency they've developed between the many life threatening situations they find themselves in. Nothing in the universe will be able to hold Kirk back once that file hits his desk. Jim won't take this lying down. He will gear himself up for a fight like Leonard's some damsel in distress, of which Leonard will have to sabotage until the kid gets it through his damn skull that Leonard isn't useful any more. Leonard almost feels sorry for the poor son of a bitch that has to replace him- _almost._

Starfleet will offer some feeble "sorry to lose you," memo after a half hearted attempt to convince him they can work around this. In the end Starfleet doesn't really have a use for damaged goods.

Three days since he sent the report and the ax still hasn't dropped on his career and Leonard's growing suspicious. He fears maybe the whole thing has been another hallucination; Jim never asked for the report and he never wrote it. The thought starts a tailspin that sends him careening down the rabbit hole. He prays it hasn't been lost in a pile of reports on some secretary's desk filled under 'will get to in a minute.'

Time moves incredibly slow when waiting for confirmation that you have nothing to look forward to for the rest of your life.

* * *

The view from his room is starting to get boring. The caged feeling isn't quelling his need to run away either. As grateful as Leonard is to be out of the other universe, alive, and back in his own, it isn't truly home until he's in his quarters back on Enterprise. He sure as hell isn't going to let Jim know he thinks of that flying tin can as home though. A sense of dread sparks in the back of his brain. He's put the kibosh on that- the Enterprise will never be his home again. Technically, he's homeless now, and jobless. When he loses it all, he really loses it all. He's itching to get out of here but has nowhere to get to.

The more analytical part of his brain whispers it's not his desire to escape medbay that wants him to run, rather the company in the room with him now. He knows that this Spock would never hurt him, and that the monster from his nightmares is another being completely, but he can't stop the tremor in his hands every time he looks at Spock. He knows Spock's noticed it too; nothing escapes those sharp Vulcan senses. The full blown panic attack accompanied by the screaming the first time Spock stepped into Leonard's hospital room was a dead giveaway that things can't just be swept under the rug.

If he has to white knuckle it around the first officer, Leonard can tough it out. He's not going to let that pointed eared elf from the other universe steal the life McCoy desperately wanted back. If he can survive that world he can tread the murky waters here until he can get his feet underneath him and not panic when Spock steps into a room. He will be able to look at Chekov without guilt and quit rubbing his finger when he's around Sulu. The phantom pain across his chest will cease if he just keeps watching Chapel's gentle touches as she works to repair the scarred tissue covering his body. He'll stop waiting for Jim to pull off the mask of his best friend and reveal the massacring lunatic he read about back there. Leonard clings to these ideas with everything he has because, damn it he's a doctor and he can't do his job if he's twitching in a corner. He brought Kirk back from the dead and dragged Spock's wounded ass across a planet, he's got this. Because giving it all up, letting the Enterprise leave without him and resigning his medical license- he's doing it because it's his choice. He's not making it out of fear. He will send his friends off on their next mission feeling good about him, even if it's the greatest lie he'll ever tell. It they believe he's fine, they won't fight to take him with them if he doesn't want to go.

"How'd you figure it out?" asks McCoy, straining to keep his voice as level and smooth as possible. He doesn't know if Jim's noticed the tremor today; he can't take his eyes off of Spock who is aware enough to keep his distance from the doctor whenever possible.

Leonard was certain he wasn't coming back and yet here he is. It certainly wasn't because of any sense of sympathy from anyone over there. Frankly, he's a little surprised anyone noticed he was missing in time to figure out what happened, let alone get there and save him. He's a little curious as to how the pieces all fell in place. It seems like safe conversation territory.

Kirk nods towards Spock who's lurking near the door instead of standing next to McCoy's bed. "Spock found the security footage that the other Spock thought he destroyed."

"It was an error that allowed us to track his movements to the transporter he used to beam you both back to his universe," elaborates Spock with as much warmth as a Vulcan can convey. He lacks Uhura's ability to provide reassurance and care with gentle words and touches but he recognizes his usual approach will not smooth McCoy's edges as of yet.

McCoy looks suspiciously at Spock. "Are ya sayin you made a mistake?" He'll have to file that gold nugget away if there's ever a day when he can joke and poke at the Vulcan with the ease they used to share.

"It was not _I_ that made the miscalculation," corrects Spock, because the distinction needs to be made, then adds, "and it does seem unlikely that such an error was simply an oversight, given the precision and calculations that would have been required to attempt such an undertaking."

Kirk sits a little straighter. He hadn't given it much thought then, only assumed that they had gotten lucky. Honestly, he hasn't had time or desire to think about anything other than what it felt like to hear McCoy was missing. "He didn't think we'd be able to figure out how to rescue Bones, so it wouldn't matter if we knew what happened?" hazards Jim.

"On the contrary, Captain. Given that the other universe had counterpart versions of all of us, he would have had sufficient data to calculate the odds of us figuring out the technology."

"He wanted us to find them?" asks Jim, because that seems like a tactical error and Spock doesn't make tactical errors like that.

"It seems the most likely outcome."

It doesn't make any of them feel better about the situation. Somehow, a shard of possible kindness that Spock would let McCoy return home seems unlikely.

Whatever the larger plan might have been, it doesn't matter now. They can just be thankful for small mistakes and that that Spock is a whole universe away with a severally pissed off Kirk on his ass. Kirk looks at McCoy gratefully, though the doctor is unusually quiet. "Well whatever happened, you're home now, Bones."

McCoy's eyes drift over to the windowsill on the other side of the room where an over confident and smug Kirk beams back at him. "Are you home, Bones?"

Leonard's gut clenches. He thought the voices would stop when they dialled back the drugs but like the nightmares, the revenant seems to want to hang in there. He ignores the hallucination and looks back at Jim- his Jim. With a forced smile he agrees, "Yeah, home."

The other Jim just rolls his eyes like he can't believe Leonard can be this stupid.

Leonard silently reminds himself he performed a medical scan on himself which verified what he's been told so far. It's the only truth he can hold on to. If he looks for ulterior motives and tricks in everything, he's going to go mad- madder. Obviously hallucinating people isn't something sane people do.

"Doctor," says Spock, causing McCoy to flinch. "Did my counterpart convey any other plans beyond the exchange?"

"Yeah Bones," pipes in Kirk from by the window. "Why don't you tell them about his plans to make you scream? Tell them about how he wanted to cut into you. Tell them about how he..."

"He just wanted to kill Kirk," snaps Leonard to drown out Kirk. He just needs his brain to shut up. "Save Uhura, burn the world, kill Kirk and I."

The room goes silent and cold as Leonard starts to pick at the edge of his blanket. Jim can't help but feel awkward and out of sorts. He has a hard time thinking about Leonard bleeding out on that planet, he can't imagine it if Leonard died or worse, if Spock had had the pleasure of doing it slowly.

"And you never met your counterpart?" presses Spock, the image of McCoy looking at himself on the bridge of the alternate Enterprise spurring him on.

Leonard can't suppress the shudder that runs through him. As bad as everyone else was in that universe, he was no better- maybe even worse. Power and vengeance pushed everyone else to great atrocities and finding pleasure in the sadistic but Leonard McCoy had a taste for fear and pain and nothing else.

The imaginary Kirk, who as it turns out is just as stubborn as the real thing, raises a glass of scotch with a solemn look on his face. "A great tragedy. The universe lost one of its best," he toasts, before tossing back the drink.

Leonard shakes his head quickly. "He was already dead," he says morosely. There's a certain feeling of pleasure at knowing he can't hurt anymore people over there. The monster is dead; sent back to hell along with a few of his friends. The more pleasure Leonard takes in this thought, the more it burns at his soul. He shouldn't find gratification in the death or suffering of anyone, yet here he is delighting in his counterpart's demise. They're clearly more alike than Leonard is comfortable with.

"That was the problem. Pike killed me- him, before Spock could use him to get Uhura back. If he was still alive, Spock wouldn't have needed me," adds Leonard. He focuses on Jim, both because it's easier to watch Jim than look at Spock and it's hard not to notice the way Jim tenses at the mention of his former mentor Pike.

Leonard lets out a long breath. He doesn't know why Spock wants to know any of this. Is it some Vulcan social experiment Spock's trying to conduct on the shape of humanity? The thought that this might be some science project for the Vulcan really pisses Leonard off. This is his life and he's tired of being poke and prodded and interrogated to satisfy other people's curiosity and ease their guilt. "He's dead, Chekov's dead, Sulu's dead, Pike's dead and if either one of you bastards has your way, you're probably both dead now too," snarls Leonard. "Ya want the play by play, it's all in my report. But here's some highlights to satisfy y'all's curiosity: murder, torture and when you weren't doin it, Sulu was cutting inta me. So I guess the moral of the story is us highly emotional humans are nothing but animals!"

The words are physical blows, each coming faster and harder as McCoy really gets going. Jim's used to it lately but it still hurts. Even Spock looks like he doesn't know how to counter the assault. "Bones," says Jim, trying to halt the doctor's tirade. It doesn't do Leonard any good to get this worked up and this emotional ass kicking isn't doing him and Spock any good either. Jim will take it, it's his penance for not protecting Leonard in the first place, but he has to try and protect the rest of the crew as much as possible too, even from Leonard.

Leonard's jaw licks shuts at Jim's warning. They want him to talk about it and when he does they don't want to hear it; which is fine because he doesn't really want to talk about it in the first place but the pestering and questions to do so are really starting to grate on him. He tried to play nice and isn't it just like Spock to poke and poke until he elicits that emotional human response he so condemns.

Jim dies a little inside. He'd dared to hope they were turning a corner and now he's sitting in the fallout of the electricity of hope. The emotional rollercoaster Leonard's been stuck on and putting Jim through is both nauseating and terrifying. Leonard just sits there, his arms folded over his chest and scowling like a child asked to eat their vegetables. Jim turns slightly towards Spock and says, "Maybe that's enough for today." It sounds like he's whispering in the vacuum created by Leonard's shouting.

"Perhaps you are correct," concedes Spock, bowing his head slightly. "Captain, Doctor," he says in salutation before taking his leave, with no greater insight than that which he walked in with.

The relief that pours over Leonard with every step Spock takes away from medical is euphoric. He can practically feel the knots in his gut slither loose to the steady rhythm of retreating footsteps. It's like he can breathe again or for the first time. With any luck, that was the last time he's ever going to feel like a child trapped in a cage with a sehlat that hasn't been fed.

It's just him and Jim now, like always. It was probably too much to hope for that Spock would take Jim with him since the captain seems stuck to that chair like he was to his chair on the bridge of the Enterprise.

The silence drags on. All the training and practical experience Jim's amassed to be the Captain of the Enterprise and none of it tells him how he's supposed to breach this silence. It just hangs heavy and foul in the air filling with the stench of everything that should be said and the weight of the things that cannot find voice.

Leonard's running out of time to be the one to break the news to Jim. He's torn between doing it personally as a kindness based on their friendship and letting Starfleet be the one to plunge the knife into Jim. He's not sure which is crueller when the end result is the same. There's a certain cold calculation in letting Starfleet be the one to shatter Jim's world and yet something vindictively satisfying about doing it himself. Either option raises some serious questions about his moral compass these days.

Leonard can do silence; he has no place to be. Jim on the other hand thrives on activity and tends to fidget like a boy waiting be excused from the dinner table so he can go outside and play when locked in an uncomfortable stalemate- or hiding something.

"You're sittin there like you forgot to do the reading assignment, Jim," says Leonard, both scolding and curious. He's been doing enough lying for the whole ship, yet Jim's ass has pretty much been planted in sickbay next to him so he shouldn't have any done anything worth hiding. Leonard's tired of being blindsided all the time. If Jim's got another boot to drop, he might as well do it now. Today is a wash anyways.

"I know." Kirk looks solemn and somewhat irritated. His hand twitches over the stack of PADDs he has stacked on the side table. They're mostly reports he either has to read or ones he's long overdue in writing since he spends most of his time here rather than his office but the top one is different.

The declaration turns Leonard cold. He's so consumed with secrets and the constant fear of being exposed or outed before he's ready, he's not sure which one Jim's worked out. "You know?" asks McCoy getting an uneasy feeling.

"I had a feeling you were going to do something you'd regret after we talked that night." By talked he means fought because that's mostly what they've been doing lately. "I read it, and I changed it," confesses Jim and it feels good to confess his sin. He has to put it out there that he has Leonard's best interests at heart, that he's not like that other Kirk.

"You what?" Leonard's brain short circuits. He couldn't have heard that right. Jim's done some stupid things before but the ramifications to this treachery threaten to turn Leonard in to a ball on the floor.

"I changed the report," Jim says calmly, like it's an everyday occurrence to hack into Starfleet files and rewrite them to suit his needs. If that report doesn't get McCoy discharged completely from Starfleet, it certainly indicates that he won't serve with Spock. Jim can't choose between the two of them and if Starfleet has to, then they're going to transfer the Chief Medical Officer before they transfer the First Officer. This family has to stay together.

Leonard folds his arms across his chest and tenses up like a cobra ready to strike. "Cause that worked out so well for you last time Jim. Do you never learn?" Fool kid almost got expelled from Starfleet for tampering with things and almost lost his captaincy last time he took liberties with a report. They'll drum his ass right out of Starfleet if this ever gets out. And it will if Leonard doesn't go along with it or shows signs as being anything other than fit for duty. It's too much pressure and he's already under so much. People like Jim turn to diamonds under that kind of pressure; deep down, Leonard knows it will just turn him to dust. He's not made of the same stuff.

"Yes! And I know what happens when we break this team up and that's worse." Jim's seen what happens when they're split up, either by choice or forced apart. He'll do whatever it takes to keep this group of people together. _Whatever_. "And it's not like you're hands are clean in all of this," counters Jim because if they're going to trade barbs, he's got a few of his own.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jim's got some nerve. Whether the kid can see it or not, Leonard's doing this _for_ him, he's doing it for all of them. Jim's just being his usual selfish self.

Jim's eyes burn with accusation. "You used your authority as CMO of the Enterprise to access M'Benga's medical evaluation of you to support your discharge." He's got to give Leonard credit, he was thorough and definitely made Jim work for it. The fact that McCoy tampered with official reports kinds of scares Jim but that's something he'll examine later; Leonard's trust worth because he doesn't misuse his authority like this.

If Leonard wasn't drowning before, he is now- dragged out into the middle of an ocean with a shuttle craft chained to his ankle and tossed in the deep. Jim's met his every move with an equally calculated one of his own. "You know it would be nice if you grew up one day and took responsibility for yourself. How could you do this to me Jim?"

Jim wants to bang his head against the nearest bulkhead. McCoy's being particularly dense today but Jim's willing to hammer this nail as long as it takes. "Do it _to_ you? I did it _for_ you Bones. It's the only way they'll let you back aboard."

"Thanks for putting that on _me_. Now I have to up hold the lie so it doesn't get out that you falsified another report and lose your ship! Did you ever stop to consider that maybe I can't function as CMO right now or maybe ever? That you just put the crew at risk?"

Clearly Leonard's wrecked over everything that happened in the other universe because Jim can't imagine a scenario in which Leonard would put the crew at risk. As far as Jim's career being on the line, it's the least he can do for Leonard, but all of his being is screaming that Leonard needs to be a part of the crew, even if he can't see it himself. "You wanna hit me Bones? Go ahead. I won't even hit back."

Leonard relents. "I'm not going to break your nose Jim." Tempting as it might be.

"Wow, that was specific." Maybe Jim's misjudged just how much anger and turmoil has taken residence within McCoy. "And you could have fooled me cause you've been taking shots at me all day."

"And how would me hitting you make me feel better? I'm not going to punish you so you can feel better. Contrary to popular belief, not everything is about James T Kirk."

No, it's not. This is about Leonard and Jim's willing to fight even if Leonard is not. "Maybe you should have made it about writing a report that Starfleet would accept, something by an officer looking to get back to his post. I mean what the hell is this, Bones?" He throws the PADD in Leonard's lap to emphasise his point.

"My official report," snarls McCoy. He doesn't need to read it. The words are seared into his brain- all the truths, the lies to cover all the things he can't bear his friends ever finding out, are all there in pretty font and formatting.

"Bullshit," snaps Jim, jumping to his feet. He paces back and forth like an animal working on its escape so it can murder the zoo caretakers that put it in the cage.

Leonard just sits there and stares Jim down. He's the one that's been wronged and Jim's acting like Leonard just screwed him over. No wonder he hasn't heard anything from Starfleet yet. "Those are the facts."

"No they're not," insists Jim. Leonard's got another thing coming if he thinks Jim is going to play his game. He's not going to let the doctor throw way everything he sacrificed and worked for. He may not know everything that happened over there, but he knows _Leonard_ , and he knows when Leonard's lying or hiding something.

"Sure it is." Leonard's not going to get in to it with Jim. He'll bury these secrets before he lets them infect the crew.

"Don't bullshit me, Bones. I deserve better than that."

Jim's right. They've been through a lot, but he just... can't. "I'm sure you do, but right now it's all I got."

"Do better," demands Jim, in a pleading achy sort of way. All Leonard has to do is take Jim's hand and he'll pull the doctor up from the cliffs of terror but he won't take Jim's hand.

"I can't," Leonard sighs, and it's so broken, like his confession has just damned the universe.

"Try, damn it."

"Don't you think I am?" Leonard would love nothing more than to be alright but it's not a matter of choice. This is a battle he's never going to win and just trying to stay in the fight is burning away what's left of his soul.

Kirk calms down a bit. It isn't pigheaded stubbornness pitting Leonard against Jim's efforts. He hasn't seen someone that broken since he stopped seeing it in the mirror once he found Starfleet. "I don't know how o fix this," confesses Jim.

"You can't fix everything, Jim. I close my eyes and I'm right back there, and believe me Jim, it's not a place you want to be. I ... I look at Chekov and I just wait to see the blood flow from his neck and the light to fade from his eyes and you don't need to know that Jim. No one should."

Jim can feel the weight that's pulling on Leonard. It's written in every line of his body. Leonard's reports have been straight to the point, clinical in their approach. Jim knows there's more behind the few words that make it to the PADD; most are lost to the desperate and needy ache that fills his experience. Right here and now, Jim can clearly see Leonard is covering for something or someone. "I already know."

Fear and panic come alive in McCoy. He's been so careful to protect Jim from knowing what kind of monster he was over there. It's bad enough he's covered with the scars of what those people are like, it shouldn't bleed over onto people who are actual pillars good in the universe. Leonard hasn't even tried to look at himself in the mirror, for fear of what he'll see, the same way he has a hard time looking anyone in the eye anymore. He wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially his friends. Personally want to pretend it didn't happen just so he can look at these people in the eye again. If people know _everything_ , he's no longer afforded the luxury of pretending and the monsters will live in the shadows of everyone.

"We found the data file with your report and the ... messages. I don't know everything but the messages told me enough," explains Jim. He's been wrestling with the whether or not to tell Leonard that they watched his heartfelt plea to take care of Joanna. It feels like a trespass of some sort,, like Jim opened his present before Christmas and now the magic is ruined. The message was conditional upon Leonard's demise and watching it when he's still alive feels like an invasion of his privacy.

Jim's revelation isn't as bad as Leonard imagined. It's not pretty but it's not a complete exposure of his secrets. This is a new kind of knife in the wound. In all the horror, he'd forgotten about the recordings. He doesn't regret anything in them but he also didn't think he would have to look Jim in the eye after he saw them. The rawness of them threatens his efforts to protect those he cares about from the atrocities he endured. Defeated he asks, "What do you want to hear Jim?"

"Everything," says Jim simply. He'll take any crumb Leonard wants to share as long as he opens up. He doesn't have to carry this alone. "Anything. Don't shut us out, please don't shut _me_ out."

"I can't Jim." What little color Leonard's gotten back in the last couple of days, drains away completely. If Jim saw the files, who knows how far they've travelled and who has laid eyes on them. One was addressed to his daughter for god sake. "Oh god, Joanna didn't see..." He'll die if his little girl saw that vid and he's here alive. His number one rule is to never worry Joanna or let on the possible dangers of his job. That goodbye message violates that rule in a major and irreparable way.

"No," insists Jim. He's well aware of the shelter Joanna at all costs directive Leonard has laid forth. His gut turns a little though. "Just me. And... Spock, Uhura and the senior staff at most."

"Well why don't you just damn well sell tickets!" Leonard throws the PADD past Jim's head. Both flinch as it smacks into the wall with a jarring thud. He's trying so hard and Jim's just making it harder. No wonder everyone looks at him like a wounded bird that will never fly again. The tension is building in his chest, just behind that phantom pain from the agonizer that's flaring up too. He can't get enough air no matter how hard he tries to gulp it in.

That pity in people's eyes is suddenly very specific now. It will lurk there in every interaction he has with people. They know exactly what he did and endured and by whom. It's no longer an ambiguous idea he can lie to them about. It's real and undeniable and all Leonard wants to do is run away from what happened and Jim's made that impossible too.

"I'm not you're god damn pet project," snarls Leonard.

"It's not like that," Jim insists. Leonard's twisting everything in his head. Uhura was just doing her job. And Leonard made the files, did he really think they wouldn't look? Jim knows all about having to look someone in the eye after you've said what you believe was your last goodbye. He's made more than a few himself and can remember the raw intimacy of baring ones soul when you have nothing to lose and the certainty that you won't see the fallout. Being thereafter, changes things, but only for the better once the weird awkwardness has dissipated. It's certainly not as bad as Leonard's making it sound.

"I don't need the mighty Jim Kirk to save me!" Leonard snarls, because he can only take so much and they're so far over that line now he can't even see it anymore.

"You're not doing it," counters the captain. "All you've done is sabotage yourself every chance you get. And when you finally realize that isn't what you want, it's going to be too late to do anything about it, so yes you need someone to save your stubborn ass."

"Don't act like you're doing this for me, Jim. This is nothing more than a selfish little kid who doesn't want his friends to go home yet. Because as long as you're good then everyone else must be good too. Ever think that maybe people are better off away from you?" The words leave a bitter taste in Leonard's mouth but they're out there now, even if they are knives he never intended to throw.

Maybe Leonard did learn a thing or two over there, because he's going for all the soft spots Jim has. His hands coil into tight fists and he has to clamp down tightly on the urge to let them fly. He tore up bars in his younger days for a lot less. "Fine," he huffs with finality. "You wanna be alone, Doctor McCoy? No problem."

Jim turns sharply on his heels and marches out of the room with as much dignity as he can force. The tears burn the corners of his eyes but they're held securely in place by anger. The brace isn't going to take too kindly to a starship captain getting into a brawl at a local bar so he can't go looking for a fight but he will go looking for a bottle. Whatever happens after that, well, whatever will be will be.


	10. Chapter 10

Spock's not sure if he gained anything from his conversation with McCoy beyond a strange sense of relief and foreboding at the doctor's wellbeing. It's curious that despite knowing McCoy's welfare from both medical and the captain's personal updates for the crew, that an actual visual assessment was needed and could elicit a sense of ease in Spock; especially since he gained no definitive insight into the situation.

There's something he's missing, something he hasn't considered in his counterpart's actions and logic isn't providing an easy answer. That Spock had kidnapped McCoy for the purpose of trading the doctor for Uhura. Judging by the force Spock brought to the exchange and the attempt on Kirk's life, it would seem that he had no intention of letting Kirk live after the exchange. So why go to such lengths to kidnap the doctor and then to assure his survival in that universe beyond assuring Kirk there was still a reason for an exchange? That Spock made not intentional attack on the doctor at the exchange, in fact it appeared as though he intended to let the doctor go; an act, which seems contrary to the cruelty of that world and Doctor McCoy's assessment of the situation. Surely the better move would have been to execute the doctor in front of Kirk, thus demonstrating the price of rebellion to Kirk loyalists as well as using the emotional upheaval experienced by Kirk to overtake the former captain and kill him.

Either emotions play a larger part in that Spock's logic than Spock can calculate or they are unaware of some event the other Spock was factoring in. Regardless, the doctor seems unaware of his captor's deeper motives. However McCoy appears to lying about something.

The one person who could possibly help him make sense of any of this has unfortunately passed. The ambassador made a vow to not share information about an alternate future for fear of depriving Spock his own life, but he suspects, the ambassador would make an exception in this scenario.

Spock wonders if perhaps the photo of the crew among his personal affects, the one touched by time and friendship that they have not yet experienced, is a curse more than a blessing. He wants that moment now that he's seen it, yet every decision he makes will either put him on the path further or closer to that moment.

It occurs to him as he walks back to his apartment, that if he can't obtain any insightful information from the doctor, perhaps he can from himself. For all they are different, he and his counterpart are the same. If he tries to understand that Spock, he just might be able to answers his own questions.

He rearranges his schedule for tomorrow, taking the day off, as he walks into his quarters and prepares a pot of tea as he downloads the security footage from the kidnapping and the video message from Doctor McCoy. He has a long night of research ahead of him and a long day of meditation after that.

* * *

Jim doesn't recall how he got to the bar but he's here now so he should take advantage of the situation. When in Rome, right? He flops dejectedly onto a stool, already a little tipsy from demolishing the bottle he kept in his office for special occasions. By the time his eyes rise above the sticky bar counter, the bartender is already pouring him a shot with that 'sorry about the break up' look on his face. Jim's picking it up and slamming it back before the glass even makes complete contact with the counter. He doesn't have a clue what he's been poured but it's a dark amber color and burns in all the right ways as it goes down.

Jim raises his hand to signal the bartender to refill his glass. "And keep them coming," he grumbles lowly.

Starfleet captains shouldn't be getting blackout drunk in public, especially in a space station with a limited population and his high profile. The hell with it. He's either mourning the loss of his job or the death of his friendship. McCoy won't sell him out to the brace, that much he knows for certain, so the latter is true. In his bid to keep McCoy close, he's single handily built a wall... with a mote... occupied by alligators... that breath fire, between them.

Jim marks the passage of time by adding another shot glass to his pyramid of shot glasses, downturned to leak their last remnants on the counter, and stacked to an impressive height.

"Captain," greets Sulu, hesitantly as he claims the vacant seat next to Jim.

Jim turns his head in a clunky and jerky motion to get a visual on who's addressing him since his fuzzy brain is having a little trouble processing the voice. "Sulu," he slurs with oversold enthusiasm, clapping the Lieutenant on the back like he's just been reunited with a college drinking buddy. He glances around to see who else is tagging along with the helmsman. If it's Scotty or Chekov, maybe they can make this a real party. The only familiar face in the crowd is Sulu's husband, Ben, who raises his glass in acknowledgement with a smile from the couple's table. Jim returns the gesture but manages to spill three-quarters of its contents with his suddenly wobbly coordination.

"Everything alright, Captain?" Sulu asks, eyeing Kirk's impressive structure of empty glasses. The captain can barely keep his head up, resting it heavily on the arm not supplying the steady succession of drinks. His eyes are red and glassy but in a way that's beyond borderline alcohol poisoning, almost like he's devastated about the world falling out beneath him.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Jim counters, defensively.

Sulu shrugs. "I don't know. But the great pyramid of drunken regret here and the fact that you look like you just lost your best friend says there might be."

Jin snorts and rolls his eyes. It makes the room spin and his stomach turn. "I think I did," whispers Jim, hollowly and losing all color.

"Dr McCoy?" Sulu hazzards.

"Yeah," Jim grunts, working hard to keep the tears from forming. There's something about attempted alcohol poisoning that always makes him emotional. "But you don't want to hear about it; you've got a husband over there and you have to say goodbye to soon. You don't need to waste what little time you have with me." Jim's not a complete asshole. He's not going to monopolize Sulu's time when he should be making the most of what little he has with his husband. Besides, Jim can imagine what it takes to find a babysitter at a space port just so they can have some quality time alone here.

"I'll have a beer and he'll have a coffee," orders Sulu, getting comfortable on his stool. The bartender nods and sets to work getting their order.

Jim relents. "He says I'm selfish for wanting him here with us. Is he right?"

Sulu looks pensive for a moment as Jim turns one of the empty shot glasses in his hand. The silence is too much, despite being mere seconds, spurring Jim to continue. "He wants to quit. Starfleet... medicine, all of it. I told him I couldn't let him do that."

"It's probably not the best time to be making huge life altering decisions. Unfortunately they have to be made now." It's been hard keeping his distance from the doctor. Beyond Sulu's initial need to satisfy his conscience that McCoy was alive and on the mend, he hasn't been back to see him. Sure he'd like to be there to offer support but after seeing the distress his presence caused, Sulu decided it was better for McCoy to make himself scarce. He's not sure if he's envious or not of those that have been able to visit. It's a huge cluster-fuck that threatens to be messy and complicated for a great time to come, but he doesn't want the doctor to leave the crew.

"He said I won't let him go because I'm scared to do it alone," admits Jim. He doesn't know if it's true or not. He can't imagine doing this on his own anymore; taking it for granted that McCoy and Spock would always be there. He's willing to tear the universe apart to save his friends but is he strong enough to do something as simple as letting go if it's what they need most?

"I don't know that I'd use the word scared to describe you sir," Sulu counters. Scared doesn't exactly jump off a platform to try and rescue someone in freefall.

"I think he's right. I leap without looking because McCoy and Spock have been there for so long. I know they'll catch me." A wistful smile lights of Jim's face. "McCoy smuggled me onto the Enterprise. Did I ever tell you that?"

"No." They all know Kirk wasn't supposed to be on board and that McCoy told Pike he'd take responsibility for Jim bursting onto the bridge like a lunatic, but he didn't know just how big a role McCoy played in getting Kirk there.

"Everyone had gotten their assignments except me since Spock had brought me before the board which put me on my academic suspension. I thought McCoy had left, but he came back for me." The thought still touches Jim, even all these year later. Leonard was the first person unwilling to leave him behind.

"He told me 'he was doing me a favor, that he couldn't just leave me standing there looking all pathetic.' Then he gave me a vaccine for Lavaren mud fleas, which you should avoid if at all possible," say Jim seriously.

"It gets a little jumbled after that but I do remember him giving hell to a coordinator to get me on that shuttle. He could have lost everything for betting on me had it not been Nero attacking Vulcan. He didn't think twice. I just can't imagine doing this without him, without any of you." Jim's still pretty sure Leonard will come to regret walking away from them. Not right away but one night when he's sitting in some crappy apartment hearing the usual excuses from Jocelyn regarding cancelling plans for him to see Joanna and he'll look out at the stars and miss them. He'll miss the excitement and new discoveries that come with being the first doctor to see new races. By then it will be too late. Jim can't leave Leonard standing on Earth looking all lost and home sick.

"Fish were born to swim, eagles to fly and the doc to practice medicine. Maybe it is selfish to want him to do that on the Enterprise with us after what happened, but he needs to do it somewhere. And what other crew is going to fight for him like we will?" asks Sulu.

"You're right," says Jim, sitting up. The world tilts a little but his conviction is firm. Leonard might not be able to fight for himself right now, but the crew is prepared too. They still have a little time to help Leonard get back on track.

He stands up for an all too brief second before gravity decides it's not going to cooperate and Jim goes careening. His crash is prevented by someone's warm chest as their hands fall on Jim's shoulders to prevent him sliding to the floor. "Aye easy there Jimbo."

Jim can see nothing but bright red uniform fabric which is either his chief engineer or security coming to toss his ass in the brig until he sobers up. "Scotty?"

"Aye," confirms Scotty, readjusting his grip to keep Jim from falling as he tries to stand up unaided.

"When'd you get here?" slurs Jim, looking around the bar like it holds the answers.

"I called him," says Sulu, waving his communicator before pocketing it to help take some of Jim's weight. "We should get you to bed sir." With Sulu on one side and Scotty on the other, they begin to steer Jim towards the door.

Jim means to hold his ground but he just ends up stumbling, kept from eating a mouthful of floor by the sheer grace of Sulu and Scotty holding him up as they walk. "No," protests Jim. "You guys don't need to take me home."

Scotty just rolls his eyes. "Someone needs to be making sure ye get there and ye dinnae look like ye can do it on yer own."

"Sulu you should stay here with Ben. Scott- Scotty, it's your only night off. You shouldn't be babysitting me," mumbles Jim as he stumbles along with his men's help in what must be a sad sight. "That's an order," he adds, with as much defiance he can manage while getting the feeling his protests are falling on deaf ears.

"Ye can court martial us in the morning, sir," pacifies Scotty as they very slowly inch down the corridors of Yorktown.

* * *

Leonard sits there silently, staring at M'Benga as he runs his tests and then reruns them just to be sure. He's not certain if he's making M'Benga nervous, causing the man to second guess himself, or if he's just being extra thorough because it's Leonard. It borders on feeling like stalling, and Leonard clenches the fingers on his good hand to try and distract himself from contemplating the likelihood that M'Benga is looking for a reason to keep him in medbay. It's probably easier to maintain the illusion of being in the correct universe is Leonard is confined to a single room.

As long as everything checks out physically, Leonard is scheduled to be released. Physical is the only threshold he can hope to pass and even that bar is set woefully low for him to clear. Being allowed to leave medbay should feel like freedom, but now after Jim's revelation, if feels more like trading one cage for another. At least Jim had the good sense to stay away. Leonard figured for sure he'd have to contend with the captain's mug first thing this morning. Jim stayed away yesterday, probably to cool down, but if anything was going to have the captain busting through the doors, Leonard would have thought this was it. If M'Benga finds his absence suspicious, he hasn't said anything.

M'Benga checks the results on his scanner before putting the device in his lab coat pocket. "Well I don't see any reason why we can't release you to your quarters, Leonard." The look of weary trepidation on his patient's face gives him pause as he waits for a beat to see if his boss can give him a reason to stay. While McCoy will never admit it, he's just as bad as the rest of the senior staff, particularly their captain, at demanding release or escaping medical prematurely. Leonard's stayed two days longer than was absolutely necessary for survival already, which is normal and prescribed for any other crew member, but his complacency and acceptance of still being in medical now is almost concerning.

With no objection forthcoming, he continues, "You're going to be sore still so don't push yourself. I have you scheduled for general physical therapy starting two days from now and specialized therapy for your hand starting Friday." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ball of fabric and Velcro, unfolding it and spreading it out on the biobed for Leonard to see. "In the meantime, I want you to keep your arm in a sling."

Leonard raises an eyebrow but aside from looking like M'Benga made him suck on a lemon, doesn't voice his irritation.

"Primitive, I know, but it will keep you from over using your hand and my boss told me that just because the technique is antiquated doesn't mean it doesn't have some use still."

McCoy give and irritated huff but let's Geoffrey help him get the sling on. "You're the boss now, Geoff." The words are resigned and hollow, but not bitter.

"Just until you're cleared for duty again," assures M'Benga with a cheerful smile. Sure he has designs on promotion one day, but not today, and not like this. He may have the medical skills to hold the CMO position but he lacks the skill and finesse in which McCoy keeps the crew together physically and mentally. Not to mention M'Benga could probably live to be a hundred and never achieve the James T Kirk wrangling skills that McCoy has mastered.

"We'll see," whispers McCoy, like he knows a dirty secret, yet in the confines of his room it might as well be a scream. "Psych will have to sign off first." He can't imagine a world where anyone is going to certify the minefield he has going on in his mind as fit for duty. The sooner his crew accepts that and understands that they're leaving him behind when the Enterprise leaves, the better it will be for everyone; especially Leonard. Pretending is taking more energy than he can spare.

M'Benga places a reassuring hand on Leonard's shoulder. "They will. You just have to be patient and work through it."

Of course they will in the end. Jim will make sure of it. The kid will either add blackmail to his list of crimes or just continue his spree of falsifying reports to make Leonard look like a shiny gem in Starfleet's arsenal. Leonard wonders if maybe M'Benga is in on Kirk's plot. It's all going to be a futile experience. If Leonard believed peace of mind could be obtained though counselling, it certainly isn't going to happen now that every word out of his mouth has to be a carefully planned lie so he can live up to Jim's boldfaced sham.

"Everything looks like it's coming along as well as can be expected. I consulted with Dr Tri'youl last night and she's convinced that if you continue with your physical therapy there's no reason to believe you won't be back to eight-five percent function in your hand," say M'Benga, like it's some kind of victory.

Leonard just hears defeat. Stuck on a ship he doesn't want to be on and now he's going to be sidelined in his own medbay. Eighty-five percent of the dexterity he once had might be almost perfect for other people but no one wants a surgeon poking around in their insides if his fingers don't want to cooperate the way they should. The slightest tremor and he could be slicing through someone's colon like Swiss cheese. It would most likely be Jim too. Serve that kid right if he did gut him, thinks Leonard bitterly.

"This doesn't prevent you from practicing medicine, Leonard," assures M'Benga at his colleague's stony silence. They live in an age of innovation where most obstacles can be overcome if the patient is willing.

"No," agrees Leonard. "Just from bein a surgeon." It might not be problematic on a planet or space port like this where there's a large pool of other doctors to take emergency operations but on a starship, someone's life may depend on Leonard being able to perform the task. It's a disaster waiting to happen and Leonard's at a loss as to why no one else can see it.

"We don't know that yet. Eighty-five is an average outcome. You could gain more."

"I could come up with less," counters Leonard, holding the hand in question out. There's a fine tremor that runs through it. Not enough that he couldn't hold a glass of water without spilling it if all the bandages were off, but enough that he wouldn't be able to paint a straight line if he tried. "You gonna let me operate on you?" asks Leonard with spite.

"It will get better," insists M'Benga. Leonard scoffs. "We should also talk about counselling options."

"I already talked with the hospital therapist." Leonard holds up two fingers. "Twice." It's kind of a lie. He went to the appointment and listened to him but Leonard didn't actually do any of the _talking_."

M'Benga looks fondly at Leonard. McCoy spends all of his time chasing crewmen down to make sure they're alright and fulfilling doctor's orders because they're given for the patient's own good and now with the tables turned he's suddenly opposed to receiving the medical care he deserves. "I've taken the liberty of listing some options for you." M'Benga hands Leonard a PADD, letting him scroll through the names of psychologists on the list.

Leonard scans the list of strangers with next to no interest. He's heard of a couple, either by reputation or his own mandatory course work required by the academy. He might not be holding an advanced degree in psychology but his position requires him to have a workable base knowledge. He knows exactly what's in store and has no desire to endure this never ending rehash of all the things that keep him up at night. M'Benga's included their profiles and degrees, all of which seem to be some of the best Starfleet has to offer. "What's wrong Jillian?" he asks, noticing the Enterprise's assigned psychologist missing from the list.

M'Benga pulls a stool close to Leonard's bed before taking a seat. It feels like a conversation between friends as opposed to doctor and patient which might do wonders for softening McCoy's ruffled edges. Beating a lame horse isn't going to get the outcome they want. "Jillian's good. We both know he is, or you wouldn't have him as part of our team, but you are technically his boss, so in the interest of fewer complications and perhaps making you more comfortable, I went with people you don't have to share a meal with afterwards."

Clearly hiring competent people has come to bite Leonard in the ass. M'Benga's managed to thwart his plan before he's even had a chance to implement it. He can't pull rank on strangers or conveniently fix the schedule so he and Jillian can't make appointments work. M'Benga's taken a page out of Kirk's play book and it just makes Leonard feel like the walls are closing in even more.

"Just one problem with your candidates," says Leonard, trying not to sound too smug about poking a hole through M'Benga's efforts so big a starship could warp through it, "when the Enterprise leaves Yorktown, that's the end of these sessions."

"I've talked to everyone on that list, and they're all prepared to do sessions over video conference once the Enterprise leaves. Doctor Haven Daily is currently stationed on Earth so all her sessions would be by vid. The rest of the list is either stationed at Yorktown or will be here until we're ready to leave so you can start this process in person if that's what you want."

"Don't wanna start it at all," mumbles Leonard. He tries not to flinch at the abruptly loud clapping coming from the corner of the room. Jim might have gotten the message to leave him alone but his ghost can't seem to take a hint.

"Sharing is caring," cheers Kirk, taking sadistic enjoyment out of McCoy's discomfort.

Leonard's not so far gone that he can't identify the auditory and visual hallucinations as the hallmarks of some sort of psychotic break. Knowing he's going insane is just more pressure building on his already fragile foundation.

Geoffrey doesn't address Leonard's clear distain for the process, just continues on so as not to lose any momentum. "This isn't a decision that needs to be made today. Take a couple of days, talk to a couple and get a feel for them. You know how this works Leonard, and that it does work."

"Yeah, Bones. Let's talk about what it feels like when the sharp point of a blade pierces your skin causing it to split open. Go on, tell Geoffrey the exquisite life affirming agony, the rush that hits you, when that knife embeds itself in bone."

Leonard glares at the floor. A scream is building in his chest, clawing at his lungs like an injured animal in need of release. He wants to crack, to let his soul shatter into a million pieces on the floor that no one will ever be able to put back together. He just has to keep it together until he gets out of here then he can go crawl into a hole somewhere. One problem at a time. "They all have security clearance for this or am I going to have to talk in useless euphemisms?"

"Whoever you choose will have complete access to Starfleet's files on the matter but right now they just have basic medical reports available to them."

Great. He gets to shatter someone else's perfect illusion of the world. Clearly he's destined to hemorrhage horror all over the place.

His face must betray his inner thoughts because M'Benga adds, "You need to talk to someone, Leonard," warmly with a note of seriousness that says there's no wiggle room for this. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another PADD. "Now, let's talk about your medication. I've included all your prescriptions on here and you can pick up a dose packet at the front desk. In a week we can look at dosages and removing some of them. Unless there's something you're not telling me, these should help you get through the next couple of days."

Leonard hefts the PADD in his hand, staring at it silently like it might bite. It feels heavier than usual, as though it's weighed down will all the prescriptions loaded on to it. More accurate, it's the chain around his neck shackling him to the darkest period in his existence. He can't blame M'Benga; he knows if the situation were reversed, he'd do the same as his colleague. It just feels different from this side.

A hypo every twelve hours isn't going to make that smiling Cheshire cat parading around in Jim Kirk's form disappear- that's going to take something stronger. Isn't that the burn? It's medically inadvisable to chase his demons away with alcohol.

He should probably tell M'Benga that his hallucinations are a bit more animated than just uncontrollable flashes of memories that feel real but he can't force his lips to form the confession. He'd probably look horrible in a straight jacket anyways.

"Am I free to go?" asks Leonard, and he has to look away because there's a flash of hurt disbelief that overtakes M'Benga before he can hide it.

M'Benga stares at Leonard as though he can read his soul like a religious text. It could just be an interesting use of phrasing, but they're in treacherous waters and anything could be a signal that a new storm is rolling in. "You're not a prisoner here, Leonard," he says sincerely, not sure if McCoy knows that or not.

Leonard folds in on himself a little. He can't stand being exposed like this. Especially with all the lies piling up around him like dead carcasses in a Klingon brawl. He swallows down the bile crawling up his throat trying to escape this hell in a way he's incapable of. "We're good here?" he corrects.

M'Benga has that doctor look on his face, the one that screams he wants to discuss something. Leonard steadfastly glares at a smudge on the floor, trying to evoke the long held child belief that if you ignore everyone and don't look at them, you become invisible. Nobody does stubborn like McCoy, and while it's great when dealing with patients that try medical's patience, M'Benga has a sneaking suspicion it will prove detrimental in this case. He nods slightly. "You are free to go home."

McCoy nods as he slowly edges himself off the edge of the side of the biobed and to his feet. Leonard rolls his eyes and hopes off the biobed. "Thanks." He grinds his teeth against the ache he's convinced will never go away. It's as a part of his being now as the numerous scars he has from his ordeal. When night is its quietest he can swear he can still feel the cold weight of the agonizer like a phantom limb. Equally, when night's at its darkest he can feel it going off, like even though it's removed it's still going to succeed in its mission to tear him apart.

M'Benga steadies him as he wobbles slightly. There's nothing standing between him and the scene of the crime, rather his quarters, than a couple thousand shuffled steps he doesn't want to make. There are no medical grounds to keep him any longer and while he's sure Geoff would come up with an excuse if he asked, Leonard can't make himself ask to stay. He could ask to be reassigned quarters but that would raise too many red flags with the right people and he doesn't have the energy to wait around while someone sorts out his living arrangements.

"Do you want me to call the captain?" asks M'Benga, sensing Leonard's hesitancy at taking his first steps to freedom.

The short answer is yes. But he hasn't seen Jim in two days since he unceremoniously told him to fuck off. He doesn't regret it and as justified as it was, it isn't fair to go crawling to Jim every time he's afraid. Jim can't be his security blanket to protect him from the dark. If he's honest with himself, he's a little disappointed Jim isn't here to see his release back into the world. Now that he's gotten what he wants is doesn't feel like he actually wants it. "No. The captain has better things to do than babysit." He storms out of medical before he can change his mind. It's just a room after all, god damn it.

He makes a beeline for the door and makes it all the way outside medical to the well groomed courtyard before it hits him, really hits him- he doesn't know where home is anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

McCoy's sitting in a moderately comfortable armchair in the lobby of his building. He's lost all track of time, giving into the mind numbing, exhaustion induced, nothingness clouding his senses. He exists in a sightless, soundless void and thank god, because he thinks too much. He never realized how much loneliness caused him to live in his own head until it became uninhabitable. There are too many memories and voices that aren't his own that makes semi catatonic appealing.

He thought he could do it, but his feet detoured from entering the building to instead circling the plaza near his place until he could barely stand anymore. Only then could he bring himself to walking in the front door to his apartment complex. He hasn't been able to stomach the thought of making it to the turbolift to get to his floor yet; it feels too much like a death march. He weighs the list of people he would normally go to, against the problematic nature of sleeping on a chair, in what's essentially a public space, and hasn't found a viable solution yet.

The top of the list is Jim: familiar, comfortable and his ultimate go to since the kid shoehorned himself into Leonard's life after that fateful shuttle ride to Starfleet. Jim, with his hero complex and kicked puppy dog look, would forgive Leonard's trespasses of late without being asked. He'd take pity on this old country doctor and shelter him from the storm. That's the problem; Kirk has every right to be pissed and he probably should be. Plus someone has to cut the cord so it will penetrate Jim's thick skull that Leonard shouldn't be part of his crew. Leonard really doesn't want to be there to see the look on the kid's face when he finally understands the mistake of fighting to keeping Leonard around.

Next would be Scotty. The engineer's a sympathetic ear and good for a beer... and extremely busy with the rebuild. He might be apprehensive about continuing their five year mission, but the rest of the crew is looking forward to it. It would be a special kind of sinister to do anything that might put the Enterprise project on hold and keep them all trap here just so McCoy can have Scotty hold his hand. While Scotty's as quick with a drink as McCoy's with a hypo, Leonard doesn't need any encouragement to drown himself into an alcoholic oblivion. He tried that once before and while it took the harsh bite of life away, he can't afford the price he paid last time.

There's Spock, whose cold, dispassionate, calculated facts might be reassuring at this point. Surely someone that logical would be able to tell McCoy if he was going crazy or if there was any part of him left to salvage. But there's the whole heart stopping, terror induced crippling fear at just the sight of the Vulcan to contend with, and if McCoy can't walk in the front door of his apartment, he certainly can't contend with that. Isn't that just typical?

Uhura, who's an even better listener than Scotty, and whose solutions don't come with alcohol poisoning, is an ideal choice. But she and Spock seem to be trying to rekindle things after Altamid, so the statistical probability that she's either at her place or alone is next to zero, which just circles around to the previous considered Spock problem. Uhura would probably extract herself from her boyfriend to house a colleague on the edge of a breakdown, but McCoy's unwilling to be the straw that breaks her and Spock's relationship's back.

Sulu's an option, but as accommodating and helpful as the guy is and would be, McCoy can't dump this crap at Hikaru's family's feet. He won't let his daughter see him like this, how can he ask another man to subject his family to it? Not to mention, Sulu kind of induces the same fear response as Spock, but to a slightly more manageable degree.

There's Chekov too, but McCoy laughs at that thought. He isn't enough of a bastard or pathetic enough to dump his problems on a kid that young- just yet. Last time McCoy asked him for help it cost the ensign his life. Besides, he knows he kind of unnerves Chekov lately, with his side eye assessments and open staring, as McCoy waits for Chekov's accusation at getting him killed when the kid was the only ally he had in a tank of sharks.

McCoy supposes there's always Christine, if he could get past the professional line this would cross. They've been each other's confidants and friends since boarding Enterprise, but are they close enough for it to not be weird and unprofessional to have your boss crash on your couch because he's afraid of the boogeyman? The other him, took advantage of, used and abused his Chapel; Leonard's not going to give himself the chance to put himself in the position to do any of that to Christine. M'Benga's pretty much the same excuse, and that brings McCoy to the end of a very short and depressing list.

"There you are!" exclaims Jim, stepping into the lobby looking equal parts panicked and relieved as he startles McCoy out of his stupor. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"You have?" mutters McCoy, dumbly. He's still trying to decide if Jim's real or not as Kirk manhandles him to his feet and leads McCoy to the turbolift. Real or not, his Jim or not, he doesn't have it in him to fight where they're going. There's a part of him that finds relief in just giving up and letting someone else take control, no matter where they lead him.

"M'Benga told me he was releasing you today, but my meeting ran long and when I got there, you were already gone," apologises Jim, like McCoy's crippling fear is somehow his fault.

"Sorry?" says McCoy, half-heartedly but with genuine remorse. He's not entirely sure what he's apologising for but he feels compelled to do it; a lot lately.

Jim just rolls his eyes and doesn't let go of McCoy. "I came straight to your place from medical and you weren't here. Nobody has seen you and you weren't at any of your usual haunts. I was about to issue a station wide alert, I was so worried when I couldn't find you. You're not supposed to be pushing yourself." There isn't anger in his voice, just the telltale notes of panic like that of a parent who lost sight of their child in the market for a moment.

There's a certain amount of irony in this situation that Leonard would like to savour, if he could just get his head to wrap around something other than numbing relief. "Sorry," says McCoy again and it sounds just as useless as the first time. "You should have commed me." He didn't mean to make anyone worry.

"You don't have your communicator, remember?"

McCoy's hand automatically goes to pat his pocket but Jim's right, nothing is there. It's sitting on the kitchen counter not more than a handful of steps away but might as well be a galaxy away because with Spock pressing him painfully against the wall he'll never get to it. It's the only thing that can save him, that can get help, and he can't get to it because his first officer is going to kill him.

"Computer halt lift. Breathe, Bones," commands Jim, his hand steady and solid on the back of McCoy's neck trying to ground him in the present. "In and out."

Leonard doesn't know when he forgot to perform such a vital function, but apparently he did. The iron grip squeezing McCoy's lungs finally loosens enough that he can ease the hunger pains of his starved lungs. The recycled air in a stuffy turbolift has never tasted so good. The pressure Spock had placed against his neck fades back into memory.

Jim can feel the tension drain out of him the second he feels Leonard's chest start to rise and fall in a normal rhythm. He can't help the stupid smile that washes over him as he shifts from kneeling in front of the doctor to sitting beside him on the floor of the turbolift. "That's it. In and out." Now that Leonard is breathing, Jim feels like he can too.

McCoy opens his eyes as he feels Jim shifting around. The world is at a drastically different angle than it was a moment ago. He typically doesn't see the turbolift looking up from sitting on the floor; it's a little weird to say the least. They sit there in silence, neither one saying anything and it's quite alright with Leonard. The next moments could go either way. Either Kirk is going to realize this isn't something McCoy's going to be able to brush off and keep going and finally walk away, or he'll keep pretending that they just have to hold on until tomorrow when Jim pulls out one of his trademark miracles and magically fixes Leonard. Jim always gets what he wants eventually; the doctor honestly doesn't know which way he wants the dice to fall.

Kirk rises slowly to his feet before reaching down and gently pulling McCoy to his. "Computer, resume lift." The gentle hum of the turbolift cuts through the silence and Jim fidgets from foot to foot. "Where were you?" asks Jim, his eyes never leaving the display counting down the floors until Leonard's apartment floor.

McCoy bows his head. Firmly in denial. Practicing avoidance like he has a shot at a gold medal in the Federation games. Embracing cowardice in all its pathetic crippling glory; he doesn't think any of these answers will appease his friend who has clearly chosen avoidance along with him. He's too busy reveling in Jim's grip, that's tight enough to suggest he might never let go, without being painful, to voice any of his motivations or fears. It's a perfect moment, where Leonard feels untouchable and safe for the first time in a long time. It's also fleeting, because the door whooshes open and there are a handful of steps between him and what he's spent hours avoiding.

Jim tugs him along and he follows, letting one foot shuffle in front of the other. "I needed some space to think," he blurts out. It's the opposite of the truth but he can't stand the void that creeps between them as Jim waits for an answer.

Jim looks like he's going to call bullshit but punches in Leonard's door access code instead. McCoy opens his mouth to try and force a better explanation out but anything Leonard was going to say is cut off by the door opening. Instead of darkness, bad memories and the ruins of his life, he's greeted by a joyful, "Welcome home!" from a crowd of people sprawled out comfortably in his space. He's pretty sure he stands there gaping like a fish until Kirk claps him on the shoulder and whispers, "Figured you'd want to celebrate freedom with your friends," in McCoy's ear. They both know he means 'figured you didn't really want to be alone' so both of them are exceptional liars in the shadow of McCoy's problems. Jim continues to push him along so they're not lurking in the door and into the fray. It's not a huge crowd but it's enough.

A warmness spreads through the doctor. It doesn't completely chase away the cold icy emptiness left by the other universe however it does begin to thaw a little. This world has a glow that the other one didn't. He's spent all day in a fog that doesn't want to dissipate, but he can feel the light here.

The apartment doesn't feel like it did the last time Leonard was in it. It's cozy and soft, like someone enjoys living there, like life can grow and prosper here. He suspects it's more the company creating a false illusion of things, that the horror, violence and coldness from that night are just swept under the rug and stuffed in the closet just out of view of guests. Plus there's strength in numbers and anyone trying to rip Leonard away will have one hell of a fight on their hands with this group of people.

"Here, sit here, doctor," says Chekov, jumping up from the couch to give McCoy his seat.

Thank god for Jim, because he pretty much deposits Leonard on the couch when his feet fail to move him. Everything is kind of hazy since leaving medical, even more so since the turbo lift and every part of Leonard feels heavy and tired. All of his energy is directed towards remembering to breathe because that takes conscious thought now, and he doesn't want whatever happened a few moments ago to happen again in front of everyone.

The captain continues on his path towards the kitchen leaving McCoy to soak in his surroundings. There're balloons, ribbon chains and scribbled drawings plastered on his walls. Clearly it's the handiwork of Demora, who's sitting on the floor beside her father, Ben Sulu, still frantically mass producing her master pieces.

The thing that does make Leonard's eyes prickle with tears is the large banner on the wall above the cabinet he keeps his liquor. The 'welcome home daddy' on a background of pink and blue swirls and hand prints, that aren't as little as he remembered, is almost enough to erase the heart pounding memories of Spock attacking him.

Before he can switch over to panic at the thought of the Vulcan, Uhura's pushing a plate of food in his hands. "Spock had to work," she assures him as she sits next to him with her usual grace and poise. "I don't know what the pink dip stuff is. Jaylah brought that particular dish," she warns, eyeing it skeptically, "consume at your own risk."

"Thanks." Uhura's soft smile means she knows he means more than the food. Spock's the giant green elephant in the room that none of them can understand but are polite enough not to talk about. Leonard hates that it puts Nyota in the middle.

A cheer goes up from the kitchen table and McCoy cranes his neck to see what's going on. Scotty, Jaylah, Sulu, Chekov and Chapel are all smiles, passing around cards and pouring drinks as Jim looks on fondly. They've got a good game of something going on over there that's thankfully pulled attention away from Leonard.

Uhura explains, "They're teaching Jaylah how to play poker. Personally I think it's going to come back to bite them in the ass."

Jim wanders back over pressing a glass in Leonard's hand before claiming the recliner next to the couch and putting his feet on Leonard's coffee table like the delinquent he is. "It's beer. Lower alcohol content than your usual poison of choice because of your meds." Leonard opens his mouth to clarify he shouldn't have any alcohol, when Jim adds, "I won't tell if you don't."

McCoy raises his glass in toast and takes a swallow. His failure at keeping the look of disgust off his face causes Uhura and Kirk to snicker to themselves. He's in no danger of consuming too much of whatever fool brand of beer this is that someone dared to bring into his home. He's always had a pallet more suited to top shelf liquors, even when he was young and has to admire the determination and fortitude of kids all over the federation, that get drunk on this swill to pass the time.

Leonard spends most of the night dozing on and off on the couch, Jim a permanent fixture in his orbit when he rouses. Who knew being laid up in medbay for weeks could leave him feeling so exhausted. He makes small talk with whoever is sitting next to him when he rouses, while the others continue with their shenanigans. He doesn't need to be involved in whatever game they've got going on, it's just nice not to be alone. Everyone seems content to carry on as he naps, the noise of company acting as his lullaby.

All good things end, the Sulu's being the first to leave, citing Demora's bed time. Really, they stay just long enough to be a part of Leonard's welcome back but leave before McCoy loses the line between which Hikaru he's looking at. The other Sulu had an angry scar running down his face, one of which McCoy would never have allowed to form. It helps knowing that this Sulu, _his Sulu_ , hasn't triumphant in a world so evil as to impart a lasting mark like that, but sometimes just the sound of the Lieutenant's voice is enough to take him back to that god awful place. It doesn't help that there's a permanent dull ache in his hand. Spending anytime with Hikaru is a baby step; Leonard's tolerance for Sulu growing a little more each time, his skin crawling less and less when Hikaru says his name.

Uhura departs next when Spock is off duty. She leaves to meet him instead of Spock coming to collect her and say hello to everyone. They both know Spock could have gotten out of whatever he was doing but McCoy's glad for the pretense and even more grateful to Nyota for keeping them separated.

Chapel finishes her drink and thanks everyone left for a wonderful evening but has to get an early jump on alpha shift tomorrow so she can't see this party to its inevitable conclusion. Pavel is quick to offer to escort her home, being both the gentlemen and no longer willing to lose anymore credits to Scotty who becomes more adept at cards the drunker he gets.

They could stay all night for all Leonard cares. He has nothing he considers important tomorrow so the late hour isn't bothering him. He can sleep through anything, as he's demonstrated so far this evening, but Jim must say something because soon Jaylah is trying to prod Scotty from the kitchen table.

"Come Montgomery Scott, there is engineering to do in the morning."

"Aye, lass, right after this hand," protests Scotty, unaware that he's the only still involved in the game and essentially playing poker by himself.

"No, now," insists Jaylah, pulling harder at Scotty's arm.

Amused, Jim says, "I'd listen to her." He takes another sip of his drink and leans back in on the hard kitchen chair. He doesn't have to worry about his engineer getting home; Jaylah will see that he finds his way.

"Ah, alright," huffs Scotty, throwing his cards on the table. "I win," he declares, scooping up all the poker chips and staring down Jim like he might challenge his claim.

Jim throws his hands up in surrender. "I wasn't even playing."

Scotty stumbles a little as he gets to his feet but Jaylah is quick to steady him and lead him to the door. "I will take care of him, James T," she says solemnly.

"I'm sure you will," agrees Jim seeing the pair to the door. He chuckles to himself as he watches them head to the turbo lift. Scotty's gong straight home whether he likes it or not. He'll have to keep Jaylah in mind next time he has to herd inebriated officers.

Jim lets out a long sigh as he looks around the apartment. It was a fun night and the first time everyone felt like a family in longer than he'd care to admit. It's also the first moment that hasn't felt weighed down by everything that's happened. They've all needed an excuse to relax, what with stress of McCoy disappearing and the pressure of the rebuild. Leonard's slumped awkwardly on the couch snoring. He hates the idea of waking Leonard from what is probably the most restful sleep he's gotten since his abduction, but sleeping on the couch is going to wreck his back. On top of everything else, Leonard doesn't need to add that.

Jim's already got an arm wrapped around Leonard as he begins to lift and whispers, "Time for bed." Leonard mumbles some protest, barely opening his eyes, but kind of helps Jim get him to his feet. It's like corralling a drunk to bed but with less swearing. Leonard's a ragdoll under Jim's complete control as he's guided to the bedroom.

Never having been trusted with the care of a toddler alone, Jim realizes he sucks at putting an unwilling participant to bed. Leonard's not awake enough to fight him, but he isn't exactly helping. Knowing he can't let Leonard sleep in his clothes, he attempts to get a sleep shirt on Leonard. He's partially successful; the shirt's on but it's backwards.

Jim shrugs his shoulders deciding to cut his losses and counting just getting the damn thing on as a win. Boots are easy, it's pants that are a little more complicated. In the end Jim opts to leave Leonard in his boxers and forgo trying to get sleep pants on the guy.

He thinks back to all the nights at the academy when he got so drunk he doesn't know how he made it home to bed. Except he does- it was Leonard, who always made sure he was safe and sound despite Jim's best efforts to be otherwise. Leonard's far too good for Jim.

He rolls up his sleeves and begins collecting dishes and glasses abandoned around the apartment. Leonard's neatness obsession, born in sickbay, definitely follows him home, so Jim knows he has to try and erase the evidence of their gathering; he's trying to smooth things over not start another fight.

He gets lost in the rhythmic cleaning, Leonard's words tumbling through his head. _'I need some space to think.'_ It's not an unreasonable request. After everything Leonard went through, he should be able to ask for a little piece and quiet, except that Jim can't shake the feeling that nothing good is going to come from Leonard being allowed to think. The last big thought the doctor had, was to write what amounted to a recommendation for his termination. Jim can't save Leonard from himself if he isn't around.

Not being around is what gave alternate Spock the opportunity to kidnap the doctor in the first place.

It finally hits Jim just how exhausted he is. The mess is far from vanished but it's passable in his book. Standing there in the semi dark makes it feel almost empty despite Leonard's personal effects lying amongst the scattered remains of their party. The air tastes stall and heavy. A chill runs down his spine making the space feel haunted and his presence a violation against the soul that once lived in it. Almost like when he stepped into Pike's quarters after he died to retrieve the man's service medals from his safe for his memorial service- except Leonard is alive, and mostly well and asleep in the next room.

Something red poking out from just under the couch catches Jim's eye. He flops down on the couch, reaching for what turns out to be a wayward poker chip. Now that he's flopped on the couch, standing up and walking out the door seems like a lot of effort. The journey back to his quarters seems insurmountable. Maybe he'll just close his eyes for a minute. He'll take a minute and then make his way to his own bed.

Sleep begins to tug at his eyelids. Getting up has little appeal anymore. In all likelihood he'll be up long before Leonard even thinks about dragging his ass to the replicator for his morning coffee. He'll stay the night, just in case anyone thinks they can try for the doctor again, and then he'll take a step back tomorrow and give the doctor the space he seems to think he wants. At least that's what Jim tells himself. The problem with this plan, he thinks , is he's afraid that if he lets go, there won't be anything to reach for later.

* * *

It's quiet, too quiet. There's no background noise, no soft beeps or gentle hums, just the suffocating silence that only early dawn can bring when you're truly along in the universe. McCoy had become intimately familiar with silence during his stay at Yorktown before Satan himself rose out of the darkness to personally transport him to hell. He and silence hadn't been on good terms then. But like any great love story, it starts with animosity that blooms into a new and profound respect for what the other can offer, followed by the terrible realization that you'll be crippled by the hole left within, should that force be removed.

McCoy's been itching for this silence ever since he was taken. Here he doesn't have to wonder what's real or not, what's truth and pretty lies. There's just a sort of pain free existence where he doesn't have to worry, to think or to pretend. All of those things are exhausting, requiring energy he just doesn't have.

These few moments when evening kisses daylight, in the heartbeat between awake and dreaming, are both precious and fleeting. McCoy never wants them to end. It's the calm before his life once again gets sucked into a swirling vortex of self-doubt, pain and misery he calls his day. He glances at the time display next to his bed and resigns himself to the cold embrace of life.

He sits up in bed, the satiny blue sheets pooling around his waist as he stretches. There's a dull ache in his bones, one that has become his constant companion and doesn't seem to be soothed by any prescription he's been issued. His muscles twitch and spasm as his joints pop and crack as they slip back into some shape resembling the working human form.

It never used to be like this. McCoy feels like a stranger in his own body. Unlike Jim, McCoy isn't under any delusion he's going to be young and invincible forever; he knows he isn't a spring chicken. Yet his body feels like it has been ravaged and gnarled far beyond its years with time and experience he never asked for.

He slips from bed with tender care. Too exhausted from yesterday, he didn't dream of blood, betrayal, crazed Vulcans and people trying to steal his ship. This small respite might be the only saving grace that gets him through the day.

He stumbles and weaves on shaky legs like a new born lamb, to the bathroom. The lights painfully bright, expose every line and fault in the mirror. What he sees is so foreign, it's hard to tell if it's his reflection or the other McCoy staring back at him from beyond the grave. He contemplates drowning himself in the sink for a moment but decides it's more trouble than it's worth to go out like that. He might just be vain enough to not want that listed as his cause of death on his autopsy report. Instead he settles for splashing frigid cold water on his face before blindly reaching for his hypo kit with all his prescriptions his medical team have placed upon him. He's aiming to get through today comfortably numb, thank you.

McCoy's hand hits bare sink, with no kit in sight. He peeks around the bathroom but any reasonable place for it is empty. He wracks his brain trying to remember what he did with it yesterday after leaving medical. Jim took it when he pried McCoy's paralyzed ass from the lobby chair, which means the kid probably dumped it at the apartment entrance or possibly the kitchen.

McCoy continues his exhaustion induced stagger out of the bedroom and into the living room. He's in a sleep shirt he knows he didn't put on and boxers he can't remember stripping down to, but putting on actual clothes right now seems more effort than it's worth and frankly he's not aiming to impress anyone at this hour. The place still looks as dishevelled as he does from last night. Clearly Kirk's tidying efforts petered out not long after McCoy did, not unlike their academy days when they shared a dorm room. The kid can run a starship, but still hasn't mastered the art of cleaning up after himself. McCoy lovingly attributes this defect to the correlation between genius and clutter. He thought sharing a dorm room was going to be the greatest test of his mental resolve; how wrong he was.

Just like their academy days, Jim's passed out on McCoy's couch; flopped out like a ragdoll and drooling on the cushions. Obviously Jim didn't go home last night. As with his constant presence in medical, Jim seems to be under the delusion he can continue his lost puppy antics now that Leonard's been set free. Really it's McCoy's own fault. He'd been too lenient in those first few weeks after the shuttle from Riverside. He'd set a bad precedent by feeding the kid, letting him up on the furniture (He's even treated Jim for Reballin Fleas because the kid can't seem to keep his hands to himself or use the sense the good lord gave him), and look where they are now.

"Get up!" barks McCoy, kicking the couch as he heads into the kitchen. He didn't ask for company this early in the morning and misery loves company. "You're drooling on my couch."

Jim mutters something completely unintelligible and not even in Standard, sitting up but letting his eyes droop closed again.

McCoy spots his hypo kit tossed on the counter as he replicates his morning coffee. Coming back to the couch he precariously balances the coffees and his kit with one good hand, handing Jim a coffee as he sits down in the empty spot left since Jim sat up.

Jim perks up slightly with coffee in hand, looking slightly more alive and less like some worn scrap scrapped off someone's boot. He drinks it back making little mewling noises and taking more pleasure in than he has any right to.

Jim's always been comfortable with the silences that fall between him and Leonard, which is odd because he'd be the first one to admit that he needs to fill uncomfortable silences with some kind of noise or action. Lately it hasn't been like that. The silence has been filled with skepticism and accusation. This morning is the first time that things feel like they might be back on solid ground. And then Leonard opens his hypo kit and proceeds to give himself five injections. Jim counts them on the sly, each gentle hiss a sharp knife in normal's back. Leonard is far from being back to normal.

Leonard finishes his new daily ritual and tosses the kit on the coffee table. He buries himself in his coffee mug, unable to look Jim in the eye. It's ridiculous, but taking a pharmacy worth of drugs makes him feel weak and he can't bring himself to see the pity or condemnation in Jim's eyes at his weakness. There's a part of McCoy that's glad Jim's here, that he stayed the night to slay any monsters that should exploit the cover of darkness to prey upon Leonard again. There's also a part that feels the added pressure of Jim's presence, like everyday Leonard spends engaged in the battle for his own sanity, his own life, he's disappointing his friend.

There's this enormous thing between them now. Jim's lie is going to take one of them down; either Jim through exposure or Leonard by keeping it. It's the shackles weighing them both down and keeping them chained together. 'I'm sorry' by either of them can't set right what's already been put in motion and won't stop until one of them implodes. Maybe it's best if it does take McCoy down, he's always been a dying star anyway; burning bright just before it extinguishes forever.

"What are your plans for today?" asks Jim. There's a cautious hesitancy in his voice, like he's standing in a mess of broken glass and can't see a clear path to move without risk of cutting himself.

Throwing himself in a black hole sounds like the wisest course of action. "Physio and probably my mandatory therapy session. My social calendar is pretty full for the foreseeable future, what with the Enterprise departure date looming and some weird standing order that I be on it as Chief Medical Officer," grumbles Leonard. He's bitter. He can't be who Jim wants him to be but he needs Jim to be around. It would have been better for everyone if he never came back.

"Good," enthuses Jim with as much optimism as he can fake this early in the morning. "Keeping busy is probably a good thing."

Leonard just glares over his coffee mug. There's keeping busy, which he doesn't have the stamina for these days, and then there's busy constantly facing the fallout of the brutality brought down on Leonard.

Jim tries to smile his way out of the tension that seems to find its way back into the room; apparently it just needed its morning caffeine fix too. He feels useless and incompetent, not sure which moments McCoy appreciates his help and which he doesn't, or that anything Jim does is help at all. He can't seem to do anything right but he has to do something.

He lingers on the couch while Leonard gets dressed, stopping himself from actually asking if he can give Leonard a hand, that would be a sure fire way to end up with a uniform boot lodged up his ass, and claims ignorance when Leonard bitches about his shirt being backwards. There's no real reason for Jim to still be there, waiting for his friend to get ready for the day other than Jim's need to know he's safe which sounds kind of pathetic to his own ears and some deep seeded fear that once Leonard knows he can be on his own that he won't let Jim come back.

Jim leaves with McCoy, awkwardly hanging around the turbolift door as they wait. The ride down to the lobby is silent and Jim resorts to fidgeting and making tapping noises with his fingers. "So I'll come find you for dinner," says Jim as they're about to part company. It's not a question, he knows what the answer would be if it was one.

"Whatever, Jim," snaps McCoy, walking away shaking his head. He's barely in the mood for company now, after his appointments today he probably won't want himself for company let alone someone else. Jim's an infection: he didn't ask for it and he won't be able to shake him. Obviously, Leonard's request for a little breathing room, as terrifying as the prospect might be, is going to be ignored like all of his wishes lately.

Jim stands there for a moment, a little lost. His day doesn't technically start for another two hours and he doesn't know what to do with this McCoy free time. He should probably head to his place and get a less wrinkled uniform. He should most definitely not follow Leonard like a bad stalker. He forces himself to head to his quarters instead of following Leonard to his appointment, and prides himself on his restraint of waiting a whole hour before asking the computer to give him an update on McCoy's location- just to be safe.


	12. Chapter 12

The overly cheerful therapist is waiting, _just waiting_ , at the receptionist's desk when Leonard walks in- and he's _early_ to the appointment. He'd hoped to have a minute to himself, where his well meaning friends weren't hovering or he wasn't setting himself up for a meltdown, but little miss sunshine is clearly a morning person.

"You must be the famous Dr Leonard McCoy, Geoff is always going on about," she greets extending her hand enthusiastically to shake his. Her smile is so big, Leonard can almost see all of her teeth. "I'm Kathy but feel free to call me Kat."

Leonard decides he hates people, but he offers her his good hand because starting off, what looks like will be a tumultuous relationship at best, on the wrong foot is probably a bad idea. "Geoff?" he presses because he doesn't know enough about his medical colleges' personal lives to play six degrees.; knowing his luck, this is probably M'Begna's cousin.

She blushes slightly but her smile never falters. If anything, it gets brighter. "Geoffrey and I were at the academy together. Every time our medical group gets together all he can do is gush about working under you."

Perfect! His physical therapist is best friends with the Enterprise's acting CMO, which means not only will M'Benga get a report on everything Leonard does and doesn't do to aid his recovery, but Jim will be guaranteed a detailed report too. He feels claustrophobic, like a noose is tightening around his neck and he only has one good hand to try and remove the rope. Who knew it could be so hard to sabotage a Starfleet career? He idly spares a second to think that maybe Jim is the architect of this turn of events. The thought burns deep within, smoldering far more than the crime warrants.

"I think that praise was probably premature," replies Leonard, raising his bandaged hand to emphasise his point.

Kat's smile falters' just a little, though she recovers fast enough that had Leonard not been glaring with poignant disdain, he might have missed it.

"We'll get you there," she promises.

If Leonard hadn't been paying attention to his medical team back in medbay nor been a doctor himself, he might actually believe her. He rolls his eyes. Medical professionals shouldn't make promises they know they can't keep.

"Follow me," she beckons, turning to lead him down the hall decorated with inspirational posters.

She takes him to a large bright white room. If it wasn't for the specialized equipment spread throughout, it would look like a spa in some fancy weekend retreat tourist trap. There's a large pool in the middle of the room with alcoves along three of the walls that offer enough privacy but don't leave you feeling trapped. He might find the place relaxing, if he wasn't riddled with apprehension about this session.

Kat takes him to the second alcove which has a large window that overlooks the garden one floor down, and sits across the table from him. She says, "Let's see what we're working with here," cuing Leonard to put his hand on the table. Methodically and gently, she unwraps the bandages encasing his hand. He tries not to flinch at the coolness of her finger tips as she removes the brace that was buried under all the bandages to keep him from bending his fingers and hand. She slowly turns his hand over looking at it from all angles, her hands ghosting over the healing incisions and scars.

Leonard suppresses a shudder. Since waking up here, his hand has always been bandaged while he's conscious. The last person he can remember paying so much attention to his hand was when Sulu was breaking it and healing it just enough to break it again. The last touch in memory is Sulu's knife breaking the skin as he promised to cripple Leonard's medical career. It's a promise kept.

Leonard hasn't gotten a real good look at his hand since examining Spock's attempt to fix it enough to make it look like Leonard was in one piece. Once the surgical marks fade, it will look the same, but Leonard can feel the difference. It feels stiff and achy and instead of bending his fingers like he wants, the digits just tremble like leaves in the wind but don't bend. It's not the hand of surgeon.

She starts slowly, going over the stretches she's forcing Leonard's fingers to do because he cannot get them to do them on his own. Leonard glares at her apologies about causing him pain because she can't be all that sincere since she's still hurting him, and pain is a woefully inadequate adjective to describe the torment she's facilitating.

It isn't long before he's sweating and there's a copper tang in his mouth from biting the inside of his lip. He's willing to fight to get his hand back but he can't shake the feeling that he doesn't possess the strength to battle his way through, especially when the outcome will be so far from where he wants to be.

When the sadist is done for the day, Leonard feels like he's gone five rounds in a Klingon arm wrestling match. All that effort and his victory was a tap of a finger; it wasn't even a particularly useful finger.

Physical therapy is every bit as horrible as Leonard imagined it would be. He studied it in school, he's prescribed it to his patients and he knows the benefits of it, yet being here on the other side, he's ready to deem the whole thing an exercise in medieval torture. Of course he knew he wasn't going to be walking out of the building with a perfectly good hand, hell, a usable hand is pretty much the best outcome and that's going to be a long way down the road, but to actually live the long road to recovery is disheartening.

He gets a bag full of tools to help him with an exercise program for his hand and a cheerful, "I'll see you in three days. Remember, don't overdo it with those exercises."

Leonard grumbles, "Wouldn't dream of it," in his most petulant tone. He'd flip her off but since he has only one usable hand and it's holding a bag filled with rubber balls and elastic bands, his point won't really get across.

He leaves his first appointment feeling like he gained nothing but disappointment and a renewed painful fire in his hand. Compared to everyone else, he's been the epitome of realistic. He hadn't realized just how much he needed someone to look at his hand and say he'd be back to one hundred percent until Kat looked over his scans and hand, smiled and said, "We can work with this." She was his last sliver of hope that apparently he had been nurturing in secret. Now that that's gone, the ledge he had been secretly clinging to when the world feel out beneath, has crumbled too. He'd wanted to be wrong about his likely outcome. Damn if Jim's fool optimism isn't dangerously contagious at all the wrong moments.

Leonard's already in turmoil; deciding he doesn't need to have a professional poke at the already gaping infected wounds of his soul, he makes the irresponsible choice to skip his psych appointment. Instead he wanders the city. A familiar ache ripples across his chest as he finds himself wander an excessively recognizable path. He spent far too many evenings and lunch breaks walking Yorktown when crewmembers, mostly Jim, cancelled or forgot about standing get-togethers. He's completely alone in an ocean of people, though not because he's been put on the back burner this time, rather none of them can understand the heat that's burning him alive now.

The stamina to keep walking isn't there anymore, leaving Leonard searching for a bench before too long. He dumps his bag down looking at it with disdain before settling his weary bones on the bench himself. He focuses on the pond before him, steadfastly ignoring the reclamation unit he can see out of the corner of his eye. The temptation to throw away his goodie bag Kat gave would be too great if he lets his gaze wonder.

He's dealt with enough of Joanna's temper tantrums as a toddler to know he's in the midst of one himself. There's less screaming, stomping and waterworks, but not by much. His mind wanders to his little girl, who isn't quite as little anymore, and quickly to the other daughter he never knew he had, because she is his, even if she's from another universe. His daughter is an orphan in a cold cruel world.

" _If you need anything, sweetheart, Uncle Jim will help out anyway he can."_

Those words haunt him now, whispering on the edge of his consciousness. Is there still a Jim Kirk there to look after that Joanna? Is that even a good option? Perhaps she's better off in world without him; he did kill her mother after all but what if someone worse takes her under their wing? As long as she's there, there is no answer that will sooth his soul. He toys with the idea of petitioning Starfleet to retrieve her, a girl he hasn't actual met but can list every freckle on her nose, every speck of gold in her jade green eyes and draw the small birth mark on her shoulder with his eyes closed.

He can hear the answer before the question is even asked. Asylum to a girl who never asked for it and requires opening a door to an alternate dimension filled with desperados and gangsters that would want to fillet this universe out of sheer satisfaction; he could never sell the brace on it. Maybe Jim could?

It occurs to him as he sits amongst the gentle hum of a peaceful universe, that he's unwittingly brought himself to a bench overlooking the pond in the central plaza by Yorktown headquarters. He has to read the name on the building to figure it out. The damage caused by the Franklin as it burst through the water to smash into Krall's ships is completely erased as though the horror and destruction of that day never happened. He's kind of envious that an experience can be so completely erased from a place but not a person.

The people of Yorktown have picked up the pieces and moved on. They rebuilt, made it better, as a signal to the universe that they will not be deterred. Leonard feels kind of guilty for not putting his best effort into gaining his life back, especially when that effort requires nothing more than to actually show up to his appointments today. The guilt eats away at his resolve to play hooky for the rest of the day and after a long painfully slow exhale, resigns himself to dragging his ass to counselling, even if he's two hours late.

There's a certain amount of relief coursing through Leonard as the secretary tells him, "Take a seat and we'll see if we can fit you in somewhere. The doctor is currently busy with other patients since your appointment was scheduled two hours ago."

Leonard tries to hide his smile. "Sorry 'bout that." He's not, but he doesn't need to make the secretary even snippier.

With any luck, the councillors are over booked and he won't see anything beyond the waiting room and PADDs loaded with month old articles on housekeeping and adventure vacations. He flips through a couple articles without reading them, silently resenting the smiling people in the pictures as they live out their fantasy holiday. Evil Vulcans aren't going to pop in from other dimensions to kidnap any of them.

Luck isn't on his side today. He's in the middle of concocting some half baked story to feed Jim when he inevitably asks about Leonard's appointments, when another overly perky assistant appears and calls Leonard's name.

He prays this isn't his assigned councillor because good lord when did they start graduating babies? He follows the kid, who looks even younger than Chekov, to an office where the guy takes a seat behind the desk with a mess of PADDs and honest to god books and gestures for Leonard to sit across from him.

"How old are you?" snaps Leonard, because he's not super keen on pouring his guts out to start with, he doesn't need the added pressure of giving this kid nightmare that his mother has to chase away tonight.

The guy smiles like it's not the first time he's been asked today. "I'm Nathaniel. Dr Kipson's been called away to a meeting at the hospital that he unfortunately can't get out of at this time. He thought you weren't going to show after you were a half hour late. I've been instructed to go over your options for counselling since you're scheduled to depart soon and need a certification evaluation. And I'm twenty-six for the record."

"Yeah, maybe in about ten years you are," gripes Leonard in a low grumble.

"I understand that Dr M'Benga gave you a list of therapists that are familiar conducting their practice with Starfleet personnel stationed off world or on deployed vessels. You are of course free to continue with Dr Kipson while you are still at Yorktown. There are of course a wide variety of programs that maybe beneficial to you and I would be happy to go over them with you."

What Leonard really wants to do is storm out of here, perhaps knocking over the mess on Nathaniel's desk for dramatic effect as he goes. Nothing would demonstrate his point so eloquently that he's unfit for duty more than a display of his unwillingness to play the game he's dedicated his life to being a part of. His muscles are tightening in preparation of standing up and walking out but he can't bring himself to do it. He just can't torpedo Jim's career like that.

"Maybe you could see if Dr Haven Daily is taking on patients?" Leonard asks to look like he's actually trying. Daily's stationed on Earth so maybe it will be easier to commit to the lie if she isn't ever in the room with Leonard.

"I'll get right on it," assures Nathaniel. "We also have several support groups in Yorktown that might be of interest."

Leonard puts his hand up to stop Nathaniel. "Why don't we just see how this goes first? Then maybe we can talk about filling up my social calendar." He tries for a sincere smile but it doesn't feel like it actual appears on his face.

"I'll forward the information to you as soon as I hear," says Nathaniel, seeing Leonard to the door.

Somehow, despite missing his mandatory caring and sharing session, he still feels like he's losing.

* * *

For doing nothing productive, Leonard's surprisingly exhausted. He hits the lobby the same time Jim does and tries not to think about what a coincidence that is. There's something infuriating about thinking the Captain has nothing better to do than lurk and stalk him. Though, Jim is carrying a bag of takeout that smells heavenly so Leonard might be willing to forgive him if that is the case.

Jim doesn't say anything as he falls into step with Leonard like if he keeps quiet maybe Leonard will forget that he's there and won't ask him to leave. He's dying to ask, the need building up in his gut until he feels like he's going to explode. He makes it all the way into the turbo lift before the question comes spilling out, "How'd it go today?"

"Fine," grumbles Leonard. There's something about the question or perhaps Jim asking it that sets him off, his already irritable mood taking a big dip further into miserable. He lived this nightmare, is sentenced to endure the fallout and in the name of recovery has to talk about and work with it all day. It's like he can never escape it. When he finally gets home, there's Jim wanting to talk about it.

Leonard shuts the conversation down pretty quickly, leaving Jim to stand there and wrack his brain for something else to talk about. This has to be the longest turbo lift ride ever. He wracks his brain but besides visiting Leonard and putting out fires (mostly figurative, maybe one literal) for the rebuild, Jim hasn't had time for anything even remotely different and interesting. Still he has to talk about something.

Leonard drowns Jim out as he prattles on visiting admirals and some pissing contest between engineering and the science department, settling on the couch once they get to his apartment. His stomach's growling so loud he's in no danger of falling asleep. The one good thing about Jim making himself at home in Leonard's space, is Leonard doesn't have to do anything; Jim just wanders into the kitchen and starts plating whatever he picked up.

"Scotty thinks the new configuration should give us an extra twenty percent out of the engines," spews Jim as his verbal diarrhea continues.

"What did you bring for dinner," interrupts Leonard, because he's starving and frankly couldn't care less about the ship's engines.

Jim carries two plates over. "I got us..." He stops suddenly at the foot of the couch.

Leonard just galres at Jim, who looks perplexed.

"...steaks?" he asks because he's not sure what's pissing Leonard off now.

Leonard waves his bandaged hand at Jim, wondering just how the kid has managed to stay alive for this long because out of all the food Jim could possibly bring home, he opts for something that requires two hands.

He knows when it dawns Jim because he starts looking a little sheepish.

There's a long tense moment where Leonard pictures himself stabbing Jim in the neck with the steak knife resting on one of the plates he holding should Jim actually voice what Leonard can see tumbling around his head. He only needs _one_ hand to stab the kid.

"I'll make something else out of it," offers Jim quickly in a panic, realizing he'll live longer if he doesn't offer to cut Leonard's steak for him. He can hear Leonard mumbling, "What kind of idiot gives a man with one workin hand a steak?" as he heads back in the kitchen. He stares at the steaks, which stare back mockingly. He should have thought about it a little more but he'd been hung up on the idea of getting something Leonard loved that was worth celebrating with and failed to consider the particle side of how Leonard was going to eat it.

He's never been particularly handy in the kitchen; the replicator is his best friend for anything more complicated than making toast. It's like taking a test and remembering every useless fact in the universe but not the correct answer. Until he had to eliminate them, Jim never gave any thought to how many food options required two hands.

Inspiration not coming, he replicates a loaf of bread an goes the sandwich route because that seems the easiest to eat one handed while still social allowed to be a little messy. Leonard still looks a little murderous at the offering but he eats it.

Leonard's getting up to clear his plate when Jim springs out of the arm chair, almost dumping his dinner in the process. "I'll take that for you," he offers, grabbing the plate from McCoy.

Leonard snatches the plate back. "I am capable of taking a damn plate to the kitchen!"

"Sorry." Jim raises his hands in surrender. "Just trying to help. Don't want you to overdo it."

"Are you spying on me?" demands Leonard. "Did Kat wait a whole minute before reporting back to you or do you just have a live feed to all of my sessions?"

"What are you talking about?" counters Jim, genuinely confused about what Leonard is raving about. "I just wanted to help. I don't know anything about your sessions."

"I bet you don't." Leonard storms towards the kitchen. He gets about half way before the communicator sitting on the kitchen counter catches his eye. It's exactly where he left it from that night- out of reach, too far away to get help. Spock grabs him by the shoulders, slamming him face first into the wall. The decanters, bottles and glasses on the table clink and rattle at the force. McCoy can feel him leans against his back, his elbow presses firmly against the doctor's spine making it impossible for him to move.

Leonard can't breathe. There isn't enough room for his lungs to expand and there isn't any air getting past his throat. He's going to die, Spock is going to kill him. The Vulcan's hand falls heavy on his shoulder, fingers coiling to pinch. He's going to die or end up in that hell! He just needs to...

"Breathe!"

Jim can't get Leonard to look at him even though he's kneeled on the ground in front of him. His heart stopped when Leonard crumpled to the ground unable to breath and it doesn't start again until Leonard manages to suck in his first short shaky breath. Jim's not sure his nerves can handle Leonard's panic attacks; he doesn't know how Leonard survives them.

They sit on the floor for an hour in silence except for Leonard's ragged breaths. Jim's hand is resting on his shoulder like an anchor holding him to this world. Even though Jim must be uncomfortable in his awkward kneeling position, he never leaves Leonard's side.

"You think you can get up now?" whispers Jim. There's no judgement in his voice, or consequences on the horizon not matter what answer Leonard conjures up and Leonard's grateful for it. He nods his head because his voice refuses to get with the program.

He can't seem to get his legs to work either.

Jim helps him up, practically carrying him to the couch. All sense of time has vanished and Leonard's pretty sure reality would go with it, if it wasn't for Jim sitting next to him. It feels safe, like Jim can't keep the evil Vulcan away, but there's doubt, this annoying little whisper tickling the back of his brain that wants to know who will protect him from Jim.

Leonard looks worn thin and brittle like spun glass. Jim doesn't know what to do.

"Do you want to talk about it?" ask Jim.

Leonard's quiet for a long time. Jim figures he isn't going to say anything when Leonard finally confesses, "Jim, I thought I was going to die."

"It was a panic attack. It feels like you're going to die, but I promise you, you won't." It feels like an empty promise, like he just told a stressed out person to relax believing that that's all it would take.

Leonard shakes his head frantically. "Not right now," he stammers. "On that night. When I was back over there. And it wasn't a question of if, but when. Of when that smug green blooded, Satan impersonating, bastard was going to snap my neck or disembowel me. Or when you were going to look into my eyes and see a stranger worth slaughtering."

Jim opens his mouth to protest, because he can't imagine killing McCoy in any world under any circumstances. More importantly he needs his friend to remember that he's safe back in their universe where none of his friends, particularly Jim himself, would ever hurt Leonard. He can't imagine having to look his nightmare in the face every day, but they aren't their counterparts and despite what Leonard's going through, it still rubs Jim kind of raw that McCoy could ever confuse him for his counterpart.

McCoy holds up his hands to stop Jim's objection. "I know it wasn't you. But god damn it Jim, it was and I can't not look at you and see him. So unless you can convince your incredibly moral and rule abiding first officer to erase these memories, I don't want to hear it."

Spock won't do that. Jim already asked. Vulcan's have some rule about not messing with people's minds and trying to erase someone's memories apparently has a slew of potential repercussions that could affect McCoy more negatively than the having the actual memories. He closes his eyes. Maybe their friendship isn't going to be what gets Leonard through this.

* * *

It's getting really late and Leonard's losing the battle to stay awake despite his protests of not wanting to go to bed.

"Night, Bones," Jim says hesitantly, standing by the door awkwardly. Leaving shouldn't be so marred with indecision. He feels insecure, like he's on his very first date and doesn't know if he should kiss the girl or not. Leonard's an adult; he doesn't need Jim to babysit him all the time. A little space could probably do them both some good. And it's not like Leonard's asking him to stay and play guard dog.

Leonard feels about as dejected as Jim looks right now. He hasn't been the best company, snapping at Jim more than is healthy and certainly more than he has any right to. The company has been good, even if he won't voice the fact Jim's incessant hovering has been distracting him from having to actually be alone with himself in the apartment where it all started. Jim's been the crutch of distraction and he's about to walk out the door.

Leonard nods. "Jim."

The seconds of silence and inaction feel like a breath shy of eternity. As Jim turns and walks out the door, it feels like he's marching to his appointment with the firing squad. He makes it far enough that the doors hiss closed behind him but can't make his legs carry him any further.

He leans against the wall by Leonard's door and closes his eyes before sinking to the floor. His mind is a chaotic storm of horrific and unlikely plots that involve finding Leonard's body come morning. In all fairness, being captured by a doppelganger to fill in for your doppelganger in a hostage exchange is pretty unlikely, so Kirk's imagination has licence to fear something else befalling his friend. His mother hen approach might be bordering on ridiculous. People don't disappear behind closed doors, except Leonard kind of did.

The threat, however unlikely, is still out there. Jim killed neither that Spock nor Kirk and only has Kirk's word he'll handle Spock. If that Jim Kirk is anything like him, and Jim fears he is, Kirk will die to fulfill this promise. If it was anyone other than Spock, Jim could guarantee they're dead already. His Spock shouldn't be underestimated so theirs can't be either, and so forever in the back of Jim's mind lies the worry that the temptation to fill a McCoy shaped hole in their universe will prove too much for them.

Maybe he'll just stay here- to ease his own insecurities. It's not like he's never slept on the floor before and morning isn't so far away. He resigns himself to his new role as McCoy's creepy stalker when the door opens and Leonard's head pops out.

Leonard looks left, then right, down the hall before a mop of blond hair at hip height catches his attention. "Figures," he grumbles, rolling his eyes. Jim's like a puppy without a home and goddamn it if Leonard didn't put a plate of food out for him the first day they met. He'd never damage his reputation as a curmudgeon by saying it out loud, but he's relieved Jim didn't have the strength to leave.

"Let's go," huffs Leonard, turning and stepping back into his apartment.

Jim scrambles to his feet and follows. He can't help the stupid grim spreading across his face as he sees the blanket and pillow already on the couch.

"Don't get any ideas," warns Leonard, trotting off to bed. This can't be a continuous thing, for so many reasons, but there is comfort in having Jim close like back at the academy before life went to hell. Neither one says a word about Jim sitting at Leonard's door, nor the fact that Leonard came looking for him, but both sleep better.


	13. Chapter 13

Leonard's head is hammering with a vengeance and the rest of him hurts with the ache of someone else's desire to burn him away from the world. His head lulls to the side as he tries to summon the strength to lift it. The best he can accomplish is rolling it forward enough so it hangs limply against his chest. He can't produce enough saliva to spit out the thick coating of blood painting his teeth and tongue. If there was a merciful deity in the universe it would take him now.

Leonard can hear someone shuffling around the chair he's tied to muttering to themselves with promises of the agony they're going to inflict on the doctor. McCoy lets out a strangled cry as someone grabs a fistful of his hair, wrenching back his head so Leonard has no choice but to look him in the eye. Leonard's heart starts to really pound as he realizes he's looking at Jim and the cold hearted bastard looks smug. Jim should be safe not someone looking at him ravenous like he's about to carve Leonard like a turkey for Christmas dinner.

"Do you know what this is, Bones?" asks Jim, twirling a dagger in his hand. Excitement dances in his eyes.

McCoy's gaze lands on the captain's hand. "Iz, a knife," he slurs. It's more than that. He'd recognize it anywhere. All officers of the ISS Enterprise had those daggers strapped to their person as part of their uniform.

"You know, it really is a multipurpose tool. I mean there are the obvious applications of gutting your enemy, but there's the psychological aspects of having a weapon close to make you feel safe and to remind other's you're dangerous. Hell, I've even used it to cut food," says Jim pealing an apple with the dagger in question. Jim's smile is all predator as he leans in close, his breath hot against Leonard's ear. "Think I can do you in one long strip." The apple falls away and the knife changes direction, cutting through the captive's shirt. It slices through the tender flesh along the way leaving a red ribbon running down McCoy's side as the fabric of his shirt falls away. "Feel free to scream."

McCoy almost bites through his tongue but he doesn't make a sound; his jaw muscles spasming in protest.

Jim's an artist, a demented and depraved Picasso. Leonard will be the finest representation of his marred flesh period. McCoy can't even suck in a breath before Sulu is driving his dagger through his right shoulder, the tip embedding into the back of the chair. This time he does scream. It's loud and animalistic. His vision swims as dark spots dance around the edges and he chokes on his own blood and vomit as his body shakes and spasms. His breath is as shaky as his body as his muscles quiver and tremble; pain crackling along every nerve ending.

"I've figured out who you are, Doc." Jim pulls the stool closer; his face taking over McCoy's narrowing vision.

"I don't... what?" he tries to ask but it comes out more as a whimper. He shrinks back as much as he can with the knife pinning him in place, to put any kind of distance between him and Jim. He can feel his blood spreading out against the fabric of his uniform that's pinned between his back and the chair, the sticky warmth cooling against his clammy skin. "Why?" he says again, repeating like a mantra. Jim shouldn't be doing this to him.

"You're a spineless coward, a snivelling quivering mess of worms that's more afraid of living than dying. You don't belong as part of this crew of exemplary officers," sneers Jim. "You're just pathetic."

Jim flicks the dagger pulling a wounded hiss out of McCoy as the doctor actually bites through his lip to endure the ripple of pain the vibration sends through his body. "It's so exhausting having to carry your ass; the broken bird that's never going to fly again. You're incompetence is going to get someone killed, you know that?"

"Then why don't you fix the problem, Jim?" demands Leonard, glaring with every ounce of strength he can muster.

"Good idea," agrees a voice from behind Jim. Leonard would recognize that voice anywhere; he's heard it his whole life.

Leonard's staring at himself handing Jim a scalpel.

"Cut off a hand. He isn't using them anyways," offers McCoy grinning with delight as Jim takes the scalpel.

Jim doesn't hesitate, the sharp blade setting free a river of blood as it severs nerves, muscle and bone with no more effort than a feather floating on a gentle breeze.

Leonard wakes up with a scream trapped in his throat. He can feel the pulse point in his neck jack-rabbiting. He tears at the bandages on his hand, peeling back the protective layers until he gets to the battered appendage. It's there, in all its useless glory. He breathes a sigh of relief that's there but can't hide the disappointment that the last few months haven't all been part of a bad dream.

He gets on shaky legs and stumbles to the bathroom. Still rattled from his nightmare, he raids his medicine cabinet for something to take the edge off. He stands in the dimly lit bathroom staring at his reflection in the mirror as his breathing slows to something resembling normal.

Jim's words haunt him as he begins his regiment of hyposprays and painstakingly rewraps his hand. Everyone is spending a great deal of energy tending a bird with a broken wing that will never fly. The spare med kit he keeps in bathroom calls to him. It would be easy to do what McCoy had proposed in the dream. One quick cut and there would be no arguing his future in Starfleet. Something that decisive and destructive would make one hell of a statement about his mental fitness, never mind his physical inability to do his job. He has enough supplies that it wouldn't even be dangerous.

When something becomes gangrenous, the only option is to amputate.

Leonard opts to throw up in the sink instead. It doesn't completely purge the thought but it pushes it back far enough that the dark recesses of him mind can reclaim it.

Leonard isn't sure how to cut out his soul.

Jim's still sprawled out on the couch like an octopus, arms and legs splayed out in ways that can't be comfortable when Leonard comes out of the bathroom. He just stands there and watches him sleep; frozen in place like he might disturb a dozing lion. It's just Jim, _his Jim,_ there shouldn't be anything to be afraid of, yet Leonard's circumspect. Wariness is oozing out of every pore. Can he really trust Jim?

Every part of him is screaming no. Jim's up to something, he always is. It occurs to Leonard that the only way he's going to survive is if he can get away from Jim. But Jim's cleaver, he'll tighten his iron jaw even more if he thinks his dinner might slip away. He needs to slip away subtly.

"Morning," manages Jim around a yawn as he stretches blinking dazedly around the apartment.

"Mornin," replies Leonard, curtly, heading straight into the kitchen to work on obtaining some coffee.

Jim sits there a little dazed until the scent of warm caffeine reaches him. "So what are your plans for today because I have a break between meetings with Admiral Shakser and the engineering department for a late lunch?"

"Can't," blurts Leonard before he can really think. He needs space; it's an itch that's settled into his bones. Last night the thought of being alone was terrifying but this morning have Jim within arm's reach feels suffocating.

Jim looks at him skeptically as he makes his way into the kitchen to help with breakfast.

Leonard has a very limited amount of activities going on in his life since he's benched on medical leave, making excuses hard to dig up. "If Daily's agreed to take me on as a patient my session will probably run long as we get to know one another," says Leonard lamely.

Jim just shrugs, stuffing part of a cinnamon roll in his mouth. "What do you want for dinner then?" he asks around a mouthful of food.

"Don't talk with your mouthful, Jim," scolds Leonard. "What were you raised in a ..."

"Barn?" supplies Jim with a chuckle. "Did spend a significant portion of my childhood on a farm."

Leonard needs a reason that seems plausible, and that Jim will respect without tipping the captain off to Leonard basically baring the door against him. "I'm going to call Joanna tonight. Rather do that alone if that's alright with you."

"Sure, no problem." Jim smiles. He knows how important Joanna is and if there's anyone that can get McCoy out of a funk, it's that little ray of sunshine. "Tell Jo I say hi."

There's a special place in hell for people who use their kid as an alibi. The worst part is, it shouldn't be a lie. He should take this time to call, and talk to her in person to let her know he's good instead of sending short text messages apologising for not being able to take her calls.

Leonard really is a coward.

"Will do," says Leonard as Jim heads out the door to go back to his place to grab a fresh uniform before his work day starts. He can feel his muscles uncoil as the door slides shuts. There shouldn't be such a wave of relief in the wake of Jim's presence.

* * *

 **One Month Later**

Leonard's incredibly fascinated with the stain on the carpet. It's kind of an electric green color which is odd against the navy blue fibers. It's almost in a perfect triangle except one of the tips is smeared outward pointing to a handful of droplets that are sprayed out around it. This room is only used by the Yorktown medical for long distance therapy sessions, so Leonard supposes he can forgive the less than surgical cleanliness of the space. Guessing the source of the stain has become his new favorite game. The other option would be to fill the silence that often falls between him and Daily.

Leonard thought the distance and view screen angles would be an advantage in lying about his ability to perform. Turns out he should have vetted Daily better because she has even less time for Leonard's bullshit than he does. Her tolerance for his distractions lasts only a few minutes before she's skillfully directing the conversation back to the matter at hand which leads to long stretches of silence as Leonard categorically refuses to discuss a period in his life he's desperate to forget.

"Leonard," prompts Daily, sternly.

Leonard rolls his eyes. He's not in the mood today. He doesn't like overly cheerful people to begin with and his day has been crammed packed with them. Watching a group of physical therapists high five one another and cheer because Leonard was able to make a fist and hold it for a count of ten pretty much ate up his desire for cooperation for the week. Performing open heart surgery on a species with four hearts while the ship is under attack- that deserves a round of applause and a personal cheerleader, not getting to the point where he can almost grab things.

It took all of his will power to stay for the rest of his session, not to mention coming to this appointment. If he didn't, Jim would go to red alert and things have just settled to a place where Jim feels comfortable enough to be distracted by the Enterprise enough that he only checks up on Leonard in person once a day. He doesn't have it in him to play nice anymore.

"What do you want me to say?" he snaps. Beating around the bush is exhausting. Do you want to hear about how I had to pull a knife out of my shoulder to save the bastard that put a device in my chest to torture me? How about how I watched Checkov get his throat slit? Nobody wants to hear the gory details if they want to sleep at night. And I don't want to talk about it." Leonard crosses his arms to punctuate his point. Maybe the cliffnotes will shut her up for a minute.

Daily looks contemplative for a moment, quickly tapping notes onto her PADD. "You said don't _want_ to talk, not that you don't _need_ to talk about it."

It's like talking to a Vulcan. Leonard knows he's not on his game enough to mentally spar with anyone these days.

"You're a doctor Leonard, you know how this works and the benefits. It's not your job to protect me from what you need to talk about."

Leonard wants to know who's going to protect him from what he's supposed to talk about. That phaser he's taken to keeping under his pillow as he sleeps can't protect him from this.

Daily leans forward in her chair, her genuine sympathy and concern radiating through the video link. "If your goal truly is to return to your post aboard the Enterprise then we have to work together on this. If you decide that isn't what you want then we can go a different route. The decision is yours."

If Leonard had the power to turn back the hands of time, he would gladly return to his post on board a flying tin can that attacks danger like nobody's business. The question no longer has a simple answer. Hell, it has no answer because Jim already made it. Maybe it's better he doesn't have a choice, a voice, in it. He hasn't done a very good job lately with the control he has been afforded.

There're voices in his head, some that take shape, that constantly ask why he's protecting Jim's trespass. Jim's trying to shoehorn Leonard into a place that he just doesn't fit anymore. The incarnation of his nightmares in the day time wears Jim's face. The greatest salvation to his sanity would be to walk away, just disappear somewhere never to be found. So why is he destroying himself to facilitate a lie not of his own making?

Telling Daily to go to hell dances on the end of his tongue, held back by the tight drawbridge of his teeth.

"Tell her!" insists a voice. Leonard doesn't have to turn his head to know he'll be staring at himself.

"Cut out the infection doctor," snarls McCoy and Leonard tries not to flinch at the ferocity of it. Instead he grips the armrest of the chair tighter until his knuckles ache with protest and his finger tips turn white. He closes his eyes and runs through the list of drugs available for a physician to prescribe for auditory and visual hallucinations. He repeats the list over and over again to drown out the criticism offered by his counterpart until that McCoy fades away.

If Leonard admits the report was forged, by a Starfleet captain no less, Jim will lose everything he's given his life for. His hand damaged hand starts to ache. The difference between him and his alternate counterpart is he can't inflict that kind of pain on others. He's lost everything; he can't do that to Jim, even if the kid is trying to kill him.

Leonard averts his eyes from the screen. He swallows the lump in his throat and starts, "Cruelty is rewarded and compassion punished. Chekov is the type of kid that's dying to be helpful. It held true over there too. He died being helpful."

* * *

Jim's been approaching the last few weeks with cautious optimism. Leonard's good days seem to outnumber the bad, which is basically a reduced number of glares aimed at Jim that promise dismemberment.

As Leonard's medical proxy he gets a little more than just the basic report offered to a commanding officer about Leonard's progress, mostly of the physical rehabilitation concerns. It's not nearly enough information but since Leonard is certified as able to make his own decisions, the reports don't contain specifics that the patient might not want to share. Jim makes a list of questions to ask M'Benga. He might be able to needle some more information out of the doctor by getting him to elaborate on the medical terms and what duties he can expect to perform until Leonard is officially back to work.

There's one month left until the Enterprise is ready to resume he mission and command obligations are ramping up. Jim's down to checking up on Leonard every other evening at dinner and once a day via message. He's most proud of checking the logs once a week to see if Leonard has gone to all his appointments and video sessions with his psychologist.

They're two weeks away from Daily signing off on whether Leonard's even fit to be on the Enterprise. As long as it's foreseeable that Leonard can operate in medical in some capacity, they're golden. If not, Leonard is going to be reassigned to another crew and Jim's actually going to have to look at the personnel files that have been sitting on the corner of his desk for the last few weeks with candidate vying for the Chief Medical Officer position on the infamous Enterprise.

"Come," says Jim as his office door chimes.

"You wanted to see me, Captain," greets Spock.

"Yes, Spock," he answers, motioning to empty seat across from him with one hand while opening up his calendar on screen with the other.

There's a slight hesitation before Spock sits down. It's only a fraction of a second but it's the closest thing to _I'm rather busy at the moment_ Jim supposes he'll ever see out of his first officer.

"We have a staff meeting scheduled for tomorrow for all department heads," says Jim.

"That is correct," confirms Spock, in a tone that is nothing but usual Vulcan monotone but the slight raise of an eyebrow signifies that Jim better come to a relevant point soon.

"I'm going to ask Dr McCoy to attend."

That earns a full head tilt. "Is the doctor certified to return to his duties?" Spock has been keeping his distance at the direction of both Kirk and Uhura, and out of his respect for the doctor's mental welfare. He had hoped he would still be kept apprised of things despite giving McCoy space.

"Not yet. But the plan is to get him back and that means running medical. He should be included in the final plans. And I figured it would be a nice way to ease him into it. M'Benga will be there as acting CMO but I figured Bones could observe," says Jim.

"The doctor and I have not been in the same room for weeks. Are you sure the doctor will be accepting of my presence?"

Jim's not sure. This could be a very bad idea, but the two of them have to work together and better to work it out now then when they're trapped on a starship together. "We start small."

* * *

Leonard's figured out the magical chemical cocktail to keep the nightmares at bay. His physician would disapprove of his self medicating and his therapist would probably have some legitimate prescription to help, but Leonard's trying to create space between him and everybody else. Giving them something to fuss over will do the opposite. He's finally got some breathing room from Jim, since the Enterprise's imminent departure is too close now to for him to be shirking his official duties.

Unfortunately his solution has just pushed the nightmares into day time hallucinations that he's not always successful at silencing. At least he prays their hallucinations. He's not the best judge of reality these days.

"You know they just want to get you on that ship to make disposing of you easier. Fewer people to ask questions if the ship's doctor gets sucked out in to cold vacuum of space on a starship," informs Jim as he tags along.

"Shut up," snaps Leonard. He's already running a few minutes late for a meeting he doesn't want to attend, he doesn't need to hear all the ways being on the Enterprise makes it easier for Spock or Jim to kill him. No matter how fast he walks or how hard he tries to not think about this incarnation of Jim, Leonard can't shake him. "I already have to deal with that hobgoblin I don't need you yappin too."

"You know I'm right."

"Enough already!" snaps Leonard, turning sharply to yell at Jim. Everyone within earshot, stops to stares at Leonard, trying to figure out who he's yelling at.

"Are you alright, Doctor McCoy?" asks Chapel, walking over. It's not every day you see your boss yell at nothing in public. The stress of everything that's happened might be taking its toll today.

Leonard turns to Chapel, suddenly very aware he's standing in the middle of a public walk way talking to no one. The tension that Jim had been winding up fades pretty quickly. He stands up straight and turns around with a less pissed off look on his face. "I'm fine, Christine."

Chapel looks uncertain. "Are you sure? Maybe we could go and grab a drink and talk about it," she offers. She need more time to make a proper assessment and if something is wrong maybe Leonard will be comfortable enough to tell her.

"Just a long day with my therapist and then I got turned around making me late for this meetin. I promise I'm fine," assures Leonard, summoning his most reassuring smile. The lies are easier to tell if he wants them to be true.

"Alright. Don't push yourself too hard." Chapel squeezes his shoulder before continuing on her way.

Jim rolls his eyes. "If she bought that, you need a new medical staff."

"Shut it," growls Leonard under his breath as he storms off towards his meeting.

* * *

Leonard supposes the change in venue is for his benefit. He doesn't have to be here, in fact technically he's not supposed to be, but he isn't required to do anything and it will keep Jim off his back. Instead of a conference room in Yorktown command, Jim's moved the meeting to an observation lecture room at the Yorktown university campus. The Enterprise senior staff is seated at the table in the middle of the room while Leonard's sitting up on the observation gallery circling above that allows students to look down on the demonstration that would normally be taking place. It allows Leonard to be there without being the center of attention. It also maximises the distance between him and Spock.

Leonard listens to the discussions going on and takes a few notes when M'Benga fills the captain in on medical's issues and concerns. Geoff doesn't really need any input from Leonard; it sounds like he has everything under control- at least from a planning aspect.

It's pretty much a regular boring staff meeting and since Leonard isn't responsible for medbay at the moment, the whole thing is extra tiresome. He never takes his eyes off of Spock though. Scotty and Chekov might as well be speaking Klingon for all he understands about the technical aspects of engineering and warp cores, but he can tell they're excited. Uhura spends most of her time asking for more training time with the new equipment for the communications staff. Sulu's energized about taking the ship for a test spin around the solar system. Leonard's not sure what Spock's prepared to talk about.

Leonard feels his palms start to sweat the second the Vulcan starts to talk. His skin begins to crawl and itch with need to escape. If he knows Spock is going to be within arm's reach, Leonard can fight down the urge to run or curl into a tight ball on the floor. It's when he doesn't know that the hobgoblin is going to make an appearance from hell that Leonard tends to have an uncontrollable meltdown. Definitely not the type of reaction one wants to have on a ship. Apparently contact has a time limit, because despite knowing Spock would be in attendance, he can feel the panic starting to take hold.

The pain in his hand flares up but it's not nearly as bad as the pain in his chest where the agonizer used to sit. It rips through him stealing his breath. He balls his good hand into a fist and jams it in his mouth to stifle any sound that might dare escape. So far no one in the meeting has paid him much attention beyond a smile or a wave when they had walked in and the occasional glance Jim steals every ten minutes or so. He certainly doesn't want to gain attention this way.

Leonard closes his eyes and tries to take some deep breaths. He finds things to focus on like Daily suggested, like the feel of the fabric covering the bench seating he's on or the firmness of the carpet as he presses his feet down. As the vice grip on his lungs starts to ease a little he whispers to himself, "I'm not there," on repeat until the world starts to feel calm and not the rising hurricane that threatened to rise up and drown him.

He doesn't know how much time has passed but Spock is still talking. Tremors are still rippling through Leonard, making him shaky and fragile. He has a tenuous grip on reality at the moment. He's not sure how long he can hold it or what might tip him back into the black abyss. His hypos are back at the apartment, both prescribed and self chosen ones.

Leonard can feel Jim watch him as he gets up and leaves the meeting without so much as a word. He's grateful that Jim doesn't say anything either or follow him out.

Once he gets outside it's like gravity has been restored to regular pressure. He walks aimlessly, just knowing the direction he has to escape from. He surprises himself when he shows up to the medical building and logs on to contact Daily. To his surprise, she answers.

"Good afternoon Leonard. We weren't scheduled for meeting today," she says looking at her appointment book.

"I know. I just..." Leonard trails off. He doesn't know what he wants. This was probably a bad idea.

"I have the next forty-five minutes free if you want to talk," she offers. "And if need be I can reschedule my next appointment."

Leonard swallows. "I don't know if I can do this."


	14. Chapter 14

Leonard can feel the nervous energy thrumming through him like an electrical current, finding escape through the vigorous tapping of his foot under the table and his hand frantically drumming the polished spoon on the table against his water glass. "Keep it together, Leonard," he chastises himself under his breath.

Uhura gently places her hand over his tapping hand, stopping the nervous twitch in his hand. His foot however, continues to shake like a dog with an itch. "We don't have to do this," she offers. She locks eyes with him even though they're sitting on the same side of the table. Leonard has no doubt she'll get up and walk out with him if he says the word.

He wants to say the word.

Leonard's life is no longer about what he wants.

This foolhardy idea isn't his own to begin with; a notion cooked up by a psychologist countless light-years away that doesn't actually have to sit through dessert. Daily's advice isn't wrong. Hell, he'd probably recommend the same thing to someone himself, but then again he wouldn't be the poor bastard having to endure it in that scenario. This meeting is meant to put the control back in Leonard's hands. To call the shots of where and when and with whom he confronts his nightmare and more importantly, pull the plug when he feels it's too much.

"No I can do this," he insists, taking to wringing the fabric napkin instead of continuing his fake morse code with the cutlery. His lying skills are on point today. Every molecule in him is screaming to run to the nearest airlock.

The restaurant is semi crowded; enough people that they're not alone, but not so many as to be claustrophobic. A perk of meeting up midday between the end of lunch and before the dinner crowd hits. There's some kind of upbeat music playing softly in the background that he can't place to a specific genre or species. It doesn't drown out people's conversations but keeps the silence of the vacuum of space from invading. It's a place aimed at a slightly younger clientele or at least a less cantankerous one. This was the only slightly more formal place, with an extensive dessert menu, open at this time. Not that Vulcans eat desserts or really have a pallet for it, but it's the simplest meal Leonard could think of to facilitate Daily's advice of small steps to climatize himself to Spock again. And damn it, if Leonard's going to be uncomfortable here, he's going to make it awkward for Spock too.

"Should we have a safe word?" asks Uhura, casually looking over the drink list.

"It's dessert not a threesome," grumbles Leonard. He can't bring himself to even pretend to be infatuated with the menu; nothing is going to settle in his stomach anyways.

Uhura rolls her eyes. "Perish the thought. That would be the most analytical and clinical threesome ever."

Leonard makes a face because he doesn't need images of Spock in bed with anyone adding to the mess he's already got taking up residence in his brain.

"I meant more along the lines of when you need me to get Spock to leave."

Bless Uhura; always looking for an out for him. Not only had she agreed to come and play buffer in this little experiment, but it's not lost on Leonard that she chose to sit beside him instead of across and beside her boyfriend. Her placement at the table not only forces Spock to sit across from Leonard, putting a table between them, but puts Uhura beside him like a guard dog.

"I don't know. Probably?" Leonard hadn't given and escape plan much thought. He supposes it would have been a tossup between running out the door screaming or crawling under the table; neither option all that dignified. He steadfastly ignores that voice in his head that sounds so much like his own, that's cataloguing all the items at the table that can be uses as a weapon capable of severing important arteries. "What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know. Something that can be worked into a conversation but isn't something so common it's said accidently."

'Fuck right off, Spock' is the first thing that pops into Leonard's head. It's too tempting. Plus Leonard can work that in at any juncture. And probably a little more direct than Uhura wants, though it gets his point across rather eloquently. He blurts out the second thing that comes to mind. "Platypus?"

"Platypus?" Uhura racks her brain as to what it is.

"It's an earth animal," he offers lamely.

It definitely isn't something she's ever going to bring up by mistake. "Can you work that into a conversation?" she asks, looking skeptic. "Do you know anything about the platypus?"

A million memories of reading Joanna bedtime stories back when the most exciting thing was looking at the pictures and listening to the sound of his voice. There were a few about the adventures of a talking platypus in them. Joanna's been on his mind a lot lately. Mostly how much he misses his little hummingbird and the guilt of leaving a version of her back in hell. "You'd be surprised. It's that or Narlithail, the parasitic worm from Eplilon Seven that finds a host and slowly eats it's brains until it grows wings and bursts from the host's skull." Leonard says it but it might be a little too on the nose for his demons lately.

Uhura looks like she's lost any appetite she might have had. "Platypus it is."

Leonard can sense the moment Spock enters the restaurant. There's a chill in the regulated air and the hair on the back of his neck prickles. He glances towards the entrance and sure enough the Vulcan in question enters like a demon emerging from the dark and scans the crowd for them. Scotty is trailing behind Spock a couple of steps. The engineer spots Leonard first, waving like a madman when he sees them.

He must tense up or hold his breath because Uhura places her hand on his shoulder and whispers, "Relax," in his ear as she waves back. Spock marches towards the table like he's on a mission, while Scotty gives them an enthusiastic thumbs up and detours to the bar. It will just be the three of them at the table but Uhura's obviously brought some of her own reinforcements to be on standby.

"Nyota. Leonard, it is good to see you," greets Spock with a kind of awkward and forced jovialness as he sits down across from them.

Leonard can't say the same. He literally can't say anything. His mouth is suddenly so dry that trying to move his tongue to form any words, pleasant or otherwise feels like trying to pry Velcro apart. He can feel Spock looking at him like he failed to return the serve in this verbal ping pong match.

"How was your shift?" prompts Uhura when Leonard clams up tight.

"Productive," affirms Spock.

Uhura is clearly going to have to carry the weight of this encounter. Leonard doesn't seem inclined to talk and Spock is not known for his small talk. Having cautioned him against a plethora of topics to abstain from the night before, she's clearly crippled his conversation tactics. "Did the new equipment for the Enterprise science labs arrive on time?"

As Spock prattles on about the new innovations the ship will be blesses with, filling the unclaimed conversation space left hanging between them. Uhura reaches under the table searching out Leonard's hand to give it a gentle reassuring squeeze. She's on his left so the only hand she can reach if his injured hand. The bandages are gone, replaced with a cumbersome brace to keep him from really using his hand for anything useful and thus not straining the still mostly useless appendage. Leonard can't really squeeze back so he settles for digging his fingertips on his other hand into his thigh until he can feel the pressure up his entire arm.

Spock can go on forever about stuff Leonard couldn't care less about on a good day, now it seems like he has an incessant wealth of knowledge on the most boring of topics. It makes every second stretch on for eternity. Leonard fades out from the conversation a couple minutes in when he figures out that had the equipment not arrived as scheduled, the departure would have been delayed a few weeks and Leonard would have received a stay of execution.

Even with a room full of people and Uhura and Scotty there to rescue him from the pointed eared nightmare, the panicked feeling begins to flutter its wings deep in Leonard's gut. It starts as a nagging sensation to leave, like he forgot to be somewhere or do something, growing more insistent until it feels like a million spiders crawling over him and his mind is analyzing and criticising every decision he's ever made in his whole life. Because somehow the green sneakers he chose wore on the first day of kindergarten was the catalyst to ending up here.

The line between here and there blurs slightly and Leonard's looking across the table at the Spock that sat at the head of the table eating breakfast while regaling Leonard with tales of the alternate McCoy mastery of torture.

"Keep it together, Leonard," he chastises, low enough that no one at the table hears. He knows it's not the other version, the lack of a beard a dead giveaway. It takes all of his energy to be in the same room as Spock, like he's holding his breath. It zaps his energy to the point where if Spock did try something, Leonard wouldn't be able to mount a resistance.

The waitress comes, all smiles and bubbly personality despite the raincloud that's hovering over their table. Uhura takes charge and orders for the table, some alien dessert that's more art than substance on the plate when the waitress brings it over. It gives Nyota something to talk about while Spock attempts to look like he's enjoying a serving empty calories and Leonard pushes shards of broken spun sugar around his plate.

Daily said Leonard should take small steps and share a meal with Spock, she never said he explicitly had to make conversation.

He should. He should say something. The lulls in conversation feel like chasms forming around him. He's going to end up trapped if they keep forming, where the only way out will be to talk about the one thing he doesn't want to speak about.

Spock keeps looking at him. It's a loaded stare, like Spock knows every single one of Leonard's secrets and doesn't know which one to exploit first to get Leonard to crumble. "Stop starin' at me like I'm one of your damn science experiments!" shouts Leonard.

The rest of the restaurant comes to a stop as they stare at the table that shattered the atmosphere. Spock sits there with his fork hanging in mid air. "I..."

Leonard tries to ignore the satisfaction he feels at watching Spock try to find the words to defuse the situation, but it's warm and comfortable like a thick blanket. It's so satisfying, he barely notices everyone else in the restaurant awkwardly try to go back to their meals like their curiosity wasn't peaked at Leonard's accusation.

Spock puts his fork down and folds his hands in front of him. "That was not my intention, Leonard."

Leonard can't sit though an apology or a Vulcan attempt at an apology, that he knows is just going to be lip service to calm him down so other people, namely Uhura and Jim, will be happy he and Spock are getting along. He throws his napkin on his plate. "Platypuses. A whole herd of platypuses."

Uhura looks grim and slightly apologetic; like it's her fault this meeting didn't cure Leonard of all his hang-ups. Spock just looks confused.

Leonard's prepared to leave quietly, and count this painful twenty minutes as a win but Spock has to open his mouth.

"I believe the correct term you're looking for is a puddle of platypi."

Something snaps in Leonard. When Spock isn't sadistically enjoying his torment he's being too obtuse to human emotions to not ratchet him up several notches. "Are you correcting my safe word?" shouts Leonard, full of disbelief and astonishment because some things should be sacred. He stands up in a huff. In a move that will either be a source of satisfaction for years to come or the death nail in his coffin, he grabs his glass of water and pours it in Spock's lap.

He doesn't stick around to hear Uhura explain the insanity to Spock or offer Scotty, whose jaw is on the floor, any sort of explanation as he passes the bar on his way out of the restaurant.

There are no less than fifteen messages waiting for Leonard when he arrives back at his apartment; one from Scotty, four from Uhura and ten from Jim. He ignores them all. He crawls into bed, clothes and all and pulls the blackest over his head. He doesn't want to talk about it and he doesn't want to work it out. He just wants today to be over.

He's pretty sure it's Jim that stops by after shift and rings his door bell and then Uhura around nineteen hundred hours. Probably, Jim again at twenty hundred hours, but Leonard never answers it. The only people getting in here will be the court-martial officers coming to get him for assaulting a superior officer if Spock decides to take particular offense to Leonard's actions.

* * *

There's a little voice that's been Jim's guiding star that whispers softy to him. He imagines it's what his father would sound like if he lived in a universe where he had the privilege to grow up with the man. It's never steered him wrong when he's listened to it (Jim spent a lot of his youth going out of his way to do the opposite), even when that voice told him the only way to save his ship and friends was to do something monumentally stupid and self sacrificing like climbing into a warp core.

It's screaming at him now but he can't hear what it's trying to tell him. Something is off about McCoy and he's not the only one who has doubts. Chapel's voiced concerns that maybe McCoy is pushing himself to fast and Uhura's first stop after dessert with him and Spock was to voice her concerns to Jim over McCoy and Spock's ability to work together. No one can pinpoint anything specific that can't be disqualified by the doctor coming to terms with his hellish ordeal.

They can only judge McCoy by the man that he was; none of them know what being on this side of things will look. This is new territory here. Surviving that alternate universe can't be erased and forgotten so they have to learn who Leonard is after that ordeal. Maybe this is the new normal?

A chill runs through Jim as he spares a second to wonder if the thing that he can't quite put his finger on, is that this isn't his Leonard at all. He dismisses the thought right away as his stomach starts to roll.

It's enough to spur Jim into checking on Leonard again before dinner. He wouldn't answer the door yesterday and despite himself, Jim refrained from breaking into McCoy's apartment, settling for computer confirmation that McCoy was safe at home.

There's no answer again. McCoy must still be at his appointment with his therapist. He turns to leave and go scrounge up something to eat before sequestering himself in his office to try and conquer the mountain of reports and reviews he needs to complete before they can being the Enterprise's first test run, and stops. He can't seem to move away from the door; an invisible force won't let him.

He punches his lock override into the door and steps inside. "Lights," he commands. The darkness retreats quickly but the eeriness doesn't leave. This move is going to go down as smooth as a jagged little pill if McCoy finds out but if something's wrong, Jim has to know. He can't protect McCoy if he doesn't know the danger.

Jim isn't sure what he's looking for. He supposes a red flag over a note saying this is the issue or mural on the wall depicting an evil plot to over throw this universe is too much to ask for. Where does one even begin to look for a figurative smoking gun?

Everything looks like an apartment lived in by a temporary occupant. Things look used but the personal touches are sparse. It's just like every other Enterprise officer temporarily stationed at Yorktown. Jim wanders through, waiting for that little voice to give him some insight on what he's looking for.

He hits up the bathroom and pokes around the cupboards. He noses through McCoy's medkit and his pack of medications. There's an astronomical amount of medication all with names that mean nothing to Jim. He records the names and files them away for further research. Depending on what the medications are prescribed for, they could shed some light on McCoy's medical status. It feels like a slimy crawl through a backdoor to circumvent doctor patient confidentiality that McCoy's been pretty adamant about enforcing as far as Jim's concerned.

Jim heads to the bedroom next. McCoy's PADD is sitting on the nightstand, just begging to be picked up. It wouldn't take much on Jim's part to hack into McCoy's personal files but is that a line he's willing to cross? A report to the brace is one thing, but these would be personal files never intended to be read by anyone else. It feels heavy in his hands as he sits on the bed staring at it. This violation wouldn't leave McCoy anywhere to hide but Jim just can't bring himself to hurt his friend this way; not without solid proof that Leonard's spiraling out of control.

Jim flops back on the bed. This whole idea was stupid and not going to win him any favors with McCoy, who's been running hot and cold lately on his tolerance for Jim. He mentally readjusts his schedule to fit in a meeting with M'Benga and formulate some kind of plan that will allow the senior staff to help McCoy find his feet again.

Jim goes to push himself up off the bed when his hand hits something unexpected under the pillow.

* * *

"You now Daily's lying to you, right?" asks Jim as he stalks Leonard like a jilted lover.

Leonard rolls his eyes and continues walking back to his apartment. Fake Jim is just as annoying as real Jim. The only reason he knows this is the hallucination and not the real deal is Daily didn't seem to notice his unrelenting chatter.

"There is no conceivable way you can count yesterday as a win. I mean satisfaction of making Spock look like he peed himself aside, how the hell are you going to serve on a confined ship with Spock looming? Don't you have to report to him as head of medical?"

"Shut up," snarls Leonard. "I'm not head of medical, so M'Benga can report to Spock." He walks faster because while he's grown accustomed to arguing with his imaginary friend, he's not immune to the strange looks bystanders give him as he passes.

He thought for sure Daily would see his dessert meeting as a failure but after a few hours of discussion, Leonard's come to realize it wasn't a complete waste of time. It isn't a leap forward but even a tiny shuffle is still a step in the right direction.

"You can't serve on a ship with that monster," points out Jim. "There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide and in space, only Spock will hear you scream."

Leonard stops marching forward and rounds on Jim. "Maybe I will serve on the Enterprise, just to piss you off."

"Yeah, cause that'll show me, Bones."

"I already have one child, I don't need another," hisses Leonard. It's one endless game with this Jim and it's exhausting. It's even more frustrating when he can't figure out where Jim's childish antics are going.

"Do you though?" counters Jim with an evil smile. "When was the last time you were even remotely a parent to Jo?"

Leonard doesn't dignify that with a response. It cuts deeper than it should because of course his subconscious knows he's been slacking on the parenting front. First due to distance and Jocelyn's restrictions and now because... well because. He can't wait to get home and sleep away the rest of the night in peaceful oblivion.

Leonard just makes it though the door when he realizes he's not alone in his apartment. Fear shoots through him like a lightning bolt. The air has been sucked out of the room, and in the distance he hears a crack of thunder. Slowly, he turns around from the door, every instinct within screaming to run.

Jim's sitting on the arm rest of the couch in the kind of dim light that highlights his brooding silence. He looks particularly put out; which is a wonder because the guy's in Leonard's apartment uninvited.

"What are you doing..." the question dies slowly as he spots the phaser in Jim's hand. Leonard's phaser. The one he's been keeping under his pillow- just in case.

"What is this, Bones?" demands Jim, all serious and pissy like Leonard's been hauled before a review board.

Leonard's already got his hackles up. "I don't know Jim, what's it look like?" It's amazing how they always sidestep Jim's trespasses in favor of Leonard's. From where Leonard's standing home invasion is a far greater infraction of Starfleet policy than one phaser.

"Looks like a phaser, that you're keeping in your bedroom, under your pillow." None of these things are horribly wrong per se. Leonard is an officer in Starfleet and thus issued a phaser, but they're usually kept in the armory. Leonard isn't one to like phasers to start with, let alone keep one in his quarters. And under his pillow of all places.

"Sounds like the kind of thing someone breaking into a person's apartment might find," counters Leonard. Jim's uninvited presence makes all the argument he needs for why it's necessary.

"Bones, this isn't like you?" tries Jim. He doesn't want to fight and he doesn't want to babysit but things are adding up to a disturbing number. Is this where they're at now, hiding weapons to defend against potential enemies?

"I remember a time when the captain of the Enterprise didn't lower himself to forging reports and breaking and entering. So I guess we've all kind of fallen from what we used to be."

"If something's wrong you can tell me," insists Jim. He looks hopeful, like his plea with knock something loose in Leonard. He just needs something to work with here. If Leonard is that afraid, he'll have security post guards in the building, in the hall, at Leonard's door. Jim will personally take a shift.

"He's standing in _your_ apartment, holding _your_ phaser; the only thing that keeps _you_ safe. The only thing wrong here is him," says imaginary Jim, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall behind Leonard like he'll jump into the fray if things come to blows here. "If you think he's not going to have you locked up somewhere for being crazy then you're dumber than you look."

"Fuck off, Jim."

"I'm not the only one who's concerned, Bones. We just want to help. The Bones I know doesn't keep a phaser under his pillow." Jim can understand the desire but it just illustrates how wrong he's been about how far Leonard's come.

Leonard holds up his hand. The bandages have been gone for awhile but the brace remains, emphasising how useless his hand still is. "Maybe the Bones you knew is dead," offers Leonard. Disappointment is the only thing awaiting this friendship. Leonard is never going to be what they need him to be.

Jim turns an interesting shade of green and Leonard kind of wants to take it back. A wounded and cornered animal is always dangerous. Sometimes Leonard doesn't realize how vicious his bite can be.

"Jim, I..."

"Don't cave to him," sneers imaginary Jim, looking disgusted at Leonard's desire to apologize. "He's invading your space and sneaking around spying on you. Who knows what else he found or will find if you don't put a stop to it. Kirk's nothing but trouble and he'll take everything from you. How is this any different from what Spock did?"

Imaginary Jim's not wrong. Jim's help has long since stopped being useful to Leonard. Everything is aimed to make everyone else comfortable with what happened; not Leonard. They all want him to go back to the way things were like it never happened so they can forget. The cuts are too deep for Leonard to ever forget.

"It's seventy-two steps to the bathroom and your med kit. You can stop all his meddling with that scalpel," says imaginary Jim with all the calm and sincerity in the universe.

It leaves Leonard feeling cold and gut punched. Things are taking a serious dark turn. Could he actually hurt Jim? Does he want to hurt Jim? Before everything that's happened, Jim was his best friend.

"I need you to stop breaking in here. Just stop helping! Leave me the hell alone. You're not helping, any of you!" yells Leonard. It's too much, all of it, any of it. He just wants to be alone but it's terrifying to be alone.

Jim just stands there, unable to form any words but the look on his face says it all. Maybe Leonard's punched him for the last time. Punching bags wear out eventually.

Leonard's head feels like it's going to split open. If people don't start giving him some breathing room soon, he can't be held responsible for what happens. "Get the fuck out, Jim! And don't come back."

"We'll talk about this later, Bones," promises Jim, as he walks out of the apartment.

* * *

Leonard waits as patiently as possible, considering the late hour and the fact he's a grown ass man standing in a hallway holding a pillow and blanket like his wife just threw him out. He never had much patience to begin with; he certainly has next to zero these days. The armful of bedding is the only thing preventing him from melting down the door buzzer. He's tired, it's late and he just wants to feel the cool softness of his pillow caressing cheek as he drifts off.

Finally the door opens.

"Uhhh," says Scotty. Slack jawed and half asleep, as he tries to process who's standing before him in the middle of the night.

"You're you right?" asks Leonard , like there's some unwritten law stating an evil alternate version of people must disclose their true identity if directly asked.

"Last time I checked?" It's too late, (or perhaps early?) for these kind of riddles.

"Can I crash on your couch tonight?" Leonard asks.

Scotty blinks at him a few times then sticks his head out the door, looking left then right, to see if anyone is with the doctor. The engineer looks like someone handed him an exam that's going to determine his future with Starfleet and he completely forgot to study. It's probably the same stunned, shell shocked look that came over him when Admiral Archer asked where his dog went after he tried to prove his transporter theory. "Ummm."

"You have a girl over?" ventures Leonard, feeling his potential safe haven slipping through his fingers. He can't sleep at home- he tried. It doesn't feel safe anymore, if it ever felt safe to begin with.

"The only lady I have any time for lately is the Enterprise," says Scotty fondly.

Leonard resists the urge to push his way into the apartment. He hefts his pillow up. "Then?"

"Right! Come on in and make yer self comfortable," blurts Scotty, like he suddenly remembers how human interaction works.

The apartment is dim and quiet; Scotty was clearly peacefully asleep before Leonard darkened his door. Leonard makes a beeline for the couch and begins laying his blanket out.

"Jim know you're here?" asks Scotty, more awake and sure he isn't dreaming his late night visitor. The captain has been keeping close tabs on the doctor lately and Scotty doesn't relish the thought of being caught in the middle if these two are butting heads again. He'll do it, but covering for one with the other often requires a well planned out story that he's not capable of on the fly.

Leonard snaps, "I don't need a goddamn babysitter!"

"I'll take that as a no."

"And he's not going to know!" hisses Leonard over his shoulder, as he throws his pillow down. "He's got his nose in enough of my business." There's no escape from Jim if everyone throws up a rescue flare every time Leonard is around.

Scotty wanders over to the closet to retrieve some more bedding. He's fallen asleep on that couch a few times by accident and knows from experience it's not that comfortable. He passes the bedding over to McCoy who seems to relax a little. From there he wordlessly heads into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of Scotch, settling on the shorter end of the L shaped couch. He's up now so might as well make the most of it. He takes a swig and passes the bottle to Leonard.

Leonard eyes the bottle skeptically.

"An old Scottish remedy- drink until you can't remember anymore."

The offer is tempting. Black out drunk sounds heavenly right now, especially since he spent the hours since kicking Jim out, tossing and turning, alternating between fear that he no longer has a phaser to protect him (sneaky bastard took it with him, like Leonard wouldn't notice) and the fact that he thought about hurting Jim. He shakes his head and pushes the bottle back towards Scotty. "Can't drink with the meds I'm on." It's the truth; he's been warned against drinking on them.

"When has that ever stopped anyone before?" asks Scotty, in that conspirator tone that suggests he won't rat Leonard out or think less of him for indulging.

It hasn't stopped him before but he knows he has enough problems; he doesn't need to add alcoholism to the mix. He used it as a crutch after father died, and again after his divorce. It never helped anything then. It just pushed him down a slippery slope that got harder to climb out each time. If he gives in to it now he knows there will be no stopping this time. "Just not ready yet."

Scotty shrugs his shoulders and takes another drink. "Wanna talk about it?"

He really doesn't. Everyone already looks at him like a broken bird that won't fly again, he couldn't bear it if they started looking at him like the monster from the alternate universe too. "I just need some place where I can sleep," says Leonard and it almost comes out as a broken cry. He just needs to feel safe enough to sleep.

Scotty nods his head but doesn't get up. "We can do that too," he says slouching down into the cushions instead of going back to his bedroom. "Computer, lights off."


End file.
